Sitting in the front passenger seat of the utility vehicle Kage drove, Anna felt the odd unease grow stronger as they approached a glorious building that could have been a luxury resort. It didn’t resemble any image of a “barn” that she held in her head. The rough topography had hidden the barn from the house, and supposedly there was another barn around somewhere, too. She was more impressed by the Arizona desert’s ability to make things disappear, because they weren’t more than a half mile from the house and the barn was huge.

Spanish-style elegant, the massive structure sprawled in gracious lines that were lit like some gigantic Christmas tree with hundreds of small white lights. Behold, the expensive and tastefully illuminated xeriscaped combination of stone and exotic desert plants seemed to say. Here are the kings and queens of equines; prepare to bow down and worship them.

Anna looked down at her battered riding boots, identifying that second, unhappy emotion. She was more excited than she’d have thought to be getting a horse of her own, but she had the sinking feeling that she was not good enough for these horses. Having her ride a horse that lived in a barn like this would be akin to a sixth grader playing a priceless Lupot cello.

“Fancy,” said Charles from the backseat—he’d insisted on her riding in front—in dry tones. Kage laughed, pulling into a parking spot right next to an identical vehicle.

“Yeah, Hosteen thinks it’s an eyesore, but it makes people spend more money than the tin mare motel that he claims he’d be happier with.” Kage looked at Anna and explained, “A mare motel is a metal roof that sits over a series of small runs. It looks horrible, but it keeps the sun and rain off the horses. Hosteen likes to gripe, but he made us build it a third larger than Dad had originally planned, and he was right. We are nearly at capacity.”

Kage turned off the engine and tapped the steering wheel. “You saved my wife,” he told Charles without looking at him. “As far as I’m concerned, you are welcome to any horse in the barn.”

“Not necessary,” said Charles. “Besides, I do know Hosteen. I may not have seen him in two decades, but no one changes that much. He’d wash your mouth out with soap if he heard you offer to give a horse away.”

Kage smiled when, Anna sensed, usually he would have laughed. He struck her as a man to whom laughter came easy, as if his natural state was happy—when no one was trying to kill his wife and children. Good for him. She hoped that he’d find his balance again soon.

“Okay,” Kage said, hopping out of the utility vehicle. “Just keep my offer in mind. I am not afraid of the old man. If what you want is over budget, we can talk. Dad says you’re mostly looking for a trail horse, sensible and pretty.”

Charles held out a courtesy hand to help Anna down. She didn’t need the help, but the reassurance of his hand on hers made her stomach settle down.

“Anna has been riding a couple of years,” he told Kage. “Trail riding in the mountains. Maybe she might find herself interested in something else down the line, though, so we won’t rule anything out. But whatever else she decides to do with her horse, we do ride in the mountains. Anna has light hands and a decent seat. She doesn’t need a beginner’s horse—just nothing too apt to spook at shadows.”

Kage laughed. “You know what they say about Arabs, right? They all spook. And half Arabs spook exactly half as much.” He looked at Anna. “It’s not really true, but they are easily bored. Most of the shying and other drama happens when they are looking for something interesting to do. They think they’re doing you a favor by making things a little exciting.”

He shook his head. “When I was a kid, Dad had this mare he was going to by-golly turn into a kid’s horse for me. But the more he worked her in the arena, the more she shied and snorted. One day he got so frustrated he took her out on the trails for a week—a trial by fire, he said. He rode her through creeks, over hill and dale—they even got buzzed by some idiot on a motorcycle and she didn’t turn a hair.”

He looked at Charles.

“She was bored,” Charles said.

“She taught me to ride,” Kage said. “A fire truck with sirens and lights blazing didn’t bother her a bit, but let a piece of straw blow across her path? I learned to pay attention and stay in the saddle.”

Kage led them through the front doors, through an airy reception room decorated Southwestern casual complete with an Old West–style wet bar. Glass double doors took them to a viewing stand that looked out over a large arena two-thirds the size of a football field. There was a tractor wetting down the arena with a water tank and spray rig. The woman on the tractor waved to Kage and continued working.

“Pretty late for chores,” said Charles.

Kage nodded. “Staff is usually done by five, except for the foaling managers, who rotate on twenty-four-hour shifts this time of year. But we’re gearing up for the big horse show. Lots of people come to the show specifically to buy horses. We’ll have a presentation or ten out here during the show, so we’ve got to get the barn ready and groom all hundred and sixty horses and not just the thirty we are showing. That means overtime for everyone.”

He looked at Charles. “You ought to take her out to the show. It’s not as over-the-top as it was thirty years ago.” He grinned at Anna. “We had all sorts of celebrities and entertainment industry people then, and people came to look at them as much as the horses. Millions changed hands both in real money and on paper to dodge the tax man, and the Arab industry attracted a different crowd. But the show is still spectacular. Lots of pretty horses and horse-mad people.”

They entered the stabling area. It smelled of cedar shavings and horses, with a faint tang of urine and leather. On the inside of the three of them, when Anna turned the corner she was next to the first stall.

A copper-colored horse thrust his head toward her, and she found herself nose to nose with him.

Not just any horse, either, but a fairy-tale horse. Every hair in his mane and forelock lay as though someone had separated them from each other and put them exactly where they would look best. The narrow stripe that ran from between his eyes down to between his nostrils looked as though someone had powdered it with baby powder to get it white-white, except for a small triangle of pink on the end of his nose. His chestnut coat was flame-brilliant, and, when she reached out to touch his cheek, the skin under her fingers was soft and sleek.

“Careful,” cautioned Kage. “He’s only a two-year-old and a stallion, which means he’s lippy. He’s not mean, just looking for handouts. But he will bite if you aren’t watching.”

“Like you, boss,” someone shouted from a nearby stall.

“And I fire people who get above themselves, too,” Kage called back with a grin.

“Yeah, I’m worried, boss,” said the same guy. He was hidden somewhere in the row of stalls. “If you fire me, you’ll have to muck out twenty stalls before you can go to bed. I’ve got job se-cu-ri-ty.”

“You go on thinking that way, Morales,” said someone else. “If you want more security you can clean my stalls, too.”

Anna petted the colt’s velvet cheek and sought out the spot just behind his ear to scratch. It was the right spot because he pressed his neck into her hand hard enough to bang it against the side of the stall opening, then twisted his neck to make her fingers hit exactly where he wanted them. His eyes closed and his lips waggled in ecstasy.

“Why aren’t horses more afraid of us?” Anna asked. “I mean, if I were a grizzly bear he wouldn’t be asking me to rub his neck, right?”

Charles’s stance had relaxed the moment they’d entered the stables; she didn’t think he knew it. Her man loved horses the way he loved music.

He smiled, but it was Kage who answered. “Horses are adaptable. I mean, I go out to some poor, half-grown colt smelling like the steak sandwich I ate for lunch. I throw a piece of dead cow on his back and tell him it won’t hurt him. Pretty amazing that they’ll let us get anywhere near them.”

He reached out and rubbed the other side of the horse’s face. “If you were in wolf form and all snarly and ready to attack, I suppose they’d freak, all right. This one might just try to trample you—he’s not got a lot of fear in him. Hosteen says they just think you smell like a funny kind of dog, and they know about dogs.” He paused. Looked at Charles. “So what do you think?”