Free The Beautiful Daughters by Nicole Baart

leaned with his arm lightly on the gate. Even so, Adri could see that his back was rigid, his shoulders tight and ready for action. “When you ride a stallion, you have to remember that he’s in charge. You don’t break a stallion, he breaks you. I figure my dad bought an expensive horse to raise me instead of doing it himself.”
    â€œDidn’t work very well.” Harper curled herself against David, her mouth just grazing the curve of his ear, and mock-­whispered, “You’re still a cheeky sonofabitch.”
    â€œNah. I just know how to play the person in charge.” David winked at her.
    Bard was calming down and Will dared to take a few steps back toward the stall in an attempt to reclaim some of his dignity. “I thought poets and playwrights were supposed to be dull and bookish.”
    David laughed. “Bard isn’t named for Shakespeare. His name is Arabic. They all are. Amira is the princess, Hasana, kind, and Farah means happiness.”
    â€œWhat does Bard mean?” Jackson asked.
    â€œCold. Because he’s a coldhearted snake.”
    But he wasn’t. Not really. Big and powerful and intimidating, yes. But not cold. Adri had ridden him once, only because she was so angry she was half hoping one of them would be killed. And when he ran beneath her, the stallion was so hot that ithurt to grip him. Or maybe her legs just burned with the strain of holding on.
    It was a harrowing memory. And yet, Adri stared at his empty stall, the molding hay piled in one corner and the scuff marks along the wide planks, and wished that she had saddled him up more than that one awful time.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Sam said. “I should have told you. I guess I just figured you would’ve suspected as much.”
    â€œI did,” Adri nodded. “I knew he’d be gone.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make it any easier,” Sam finished. Then, turning, he motioned in the direction of the far corner stall. “If it helps . . .”
    Mateo was the only bastard of the bunch, a gorgeous blue roan that Victoria had purchased because he was the most beautiful gelding she had ever seen. She didn’t learn until after she brought him home that the classic roan gene does not appear in her husband’s beloved Arabians, and the mottled, silvering effect that she adored was evidence of his disreputable heritage. Liam suspected there was quarter horse in Mateo’s blood, or worse, Tennessee Walker. After that disheartening discovery, no one paid Mateo much mind. Until Adri started hanging around the estate.
    â€œHey.” Adri’s mouth tilted in a half-smile and she crossed the aisle to take Mateo’s face in her hands. His lips flapped at her fingers, and just as she wished that she had brought something for him, Sam handed her a sugar cube.
    â€œI stuck some in my pocket before I left for the airport,” he said with an innocent shrug.
    â€œThanks.” Adri offered Mateo the sweet and he snatched it out of her hand instantly. The short whiskers on his muzzle prickled against her palm as he swallowed and searched for more. When Mateo realized there was none, he let out a short, deep whinny, then gave up and contented himself with nuzzling Adri’s chest. It was almost as if he remembered her. But that was impossible. Five years had gone by since she had seenhim last, because her homecomings had never included a trip to Piperhall. Adri simply couldn’t summon the courage. Now, Mateo was middle-aged, nothing like the young adult he had been when Adri first rode him. Back then, he had flowed like water, bubbled up and out and away even as she did everything in her power to control him. Mateo looked like he’d need coaxing to gallop now.
    They had stayed on the estate many weekends, The Five, and, in the beginning at least, spent as much time on horseback as they did in the pool or hot tub. On warm days in the fall and spring,