The moon was bright enough for Marg

The moon was bright enough for Margot to wander over the grounds without fear of stumbling. Distracted by thoughts and memories, she didn’t pay particular attention to her direction until she looked up and saw the main barn ahead of her, its large double doors still open so that light streamed into the courtyard.
It didn’t surprise her that her feet had led her here. Rosewood’s barns had always been a refuge; the warmth of a horse’s sleek neck against her cheek brought solace as nothing else could. She stepped through the open doors and blinked, adjusting to the light.
It was like stepping back in time. Her heart swelled at the familiarity of the scene: the immaculately swept concrete floor, the long row of box stalls, the air redolent of hay and horse and wood shavings. Sensing her presence, the horses whickered and shifted restlessly, sending bedding scattering against the stall walls. But no human was in sight.
“Hello?” she called out.
Halfway down the aisle, a silver-haired man with a wiry build stepped out from one of the stalls. He slid the stall door shut and threw the latch in place, then hung a dark leather halter on its metal hook, taking the time to make sure it was exactly centered. The gesture triggered her memory.
“Ned?” Margot exclaimed in surprise.
Ned Connelly turned with a start. “Good Lord, is that you, Miss Margot?” he asked, already moving toward her.
“Yes, Ned, it’s me.” Her voice quavered. “Gosh, it’s been a longtime.”
“Too damn long.” He grasped both her hands in his. Though he must have been seventy, Ned’s grip was still strong. “Let me take a look at you.” His bright gaze inspected her from head to foot. He gave a pleased nod. “Like I told the boys, you’re a hundred times prettier in the flesh than they make you in those glossy pictures.” The teasing twinkle in his eye dimmed abruptly. “I heard about your stepmother. I’m awful sorry. How’s your father? Last time I called the hospital, they said he’d been moved to intensive care. Did they let you see him? How’s he doing?”
Perhaps it was because Ned had known her forever, had dusted off her behind when a horse sent her flying into the dirt before matter-of-factly giving her a leg up, boosting her right back into the saddle, that she lost it. She began trembling. “He—he didn’t make it,” she stammered.
Ned seemed to age ten years before her eyes. His face fell, his leathery skin crumpling into creases. His shoulders bowed under the weight of his grief, he lifted a trembling hand, and wiped his eyes.
“Oh, hell,” he said thickly. “I can’t believe it. I was so sure a stubborn rascal like him would pull through. Ahh, Miss Margot, I’m gonna miss RJ, hardheaded fool that he was.”
The deep affection in his voice undid her. Tears welled in her eyes ready to flow down her cheeks. Futilely she tried to wipe them away, but the dam had opened. “All I can think of is that I barely saw him and then he was gone. If I’d just had a little more time with him. God, I’m sorry for crying like this,” she said, hiccuping.
“No need to apologize. I know how you loved your dad.” He fished a bandana from the front pocket of his dickeys—the type of work trousers he’d worn without fail for as long as she could remember—and pressed the folded square into her hand. It was soft with age and countless washings. Wrapping an arm about her, he said, “Come on into the office. There’s some coffee left in the pot. And a bottle of whiskey somewhere, too. We’ll talk.”
Ned waited until Margot was seated in one of the cracked leather chairs before handing her a mug of coffee that he’d laced liberally with whiskey. He held up his own in a toast. “Here’s to your father. He was a good friend and one of the finest horsemen I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. May he rest in peace.”
“May he rest in peace,” she echoed, and clinked her mug against his before taking a sip. The heat of the alcohol-laced coffee spread through her. Leary of drinking too much or too quickly when she had jet lag and hadn’t eaten in hours, she balanced the mug on her thigh. “Ned, what are you doing here so late, all by yourself?”
“One of the four-year-olds, Gulliver, has a puffy tendon. I’ve been icing the leg to bring the swelling down. I’d just finished wrapping it and was saying good night to the fella.”
“Shouldn’t Travis be doing that?” There, she’d said his name. Casually, too, as if this were the first time she’d even thought of him in eight years.
But the canny light in Ned’s eyes made her wonder if she had even come close to fooling him. She thought of all the hungry, flirty glances she’d cast at Travis, all the silly ploys she’d stooped to in a bid for his attention. Ned had probably witnessed every one of them and remembered exactly how infatuated she’d been. She lifted the mug to her lips, drinking deeply to hide the blush warming her cheeks.
Ned, too, took a long sip of his doctored coffee. “Yeah, I guess Travis would be tending Gulliver’s foreleg—if he were around. But RJ fired him.”
“What!” she exclaimed, so startled she nearly dumped the coffee in her lap. “Dad fired Travis? When?”
“A couple of months back. Although on days like these, it feels like Travis has been gone closer to a year.” Ned shook his head. “I told RJ I was too old to manage the entire operation. That’s why Travis took over for me in the first place. And he was doing a fine job.” He shook his head sadly.
“Then why did Dad fire him?” She simply couldn’t understand it. Travis had been almost a son to her father. What could have happened?
With a last swallow of his coffee, Ned leaned forward and plunked his mug onto the large oak desk, exchanging it for a round tin of chewing tobacco.
“Why did he fire Travis?” he repeated as he scooped a fingerful of chaw from the tin and packed it between his lower lip and gum. “I’ll tell you why, Miss Margot. It’s like they say in the movies: ‘Cherchez la femme.’”
She stared owlishly. The whiskey-laced coffee must have been stronger than she’d thought. She could have sworn Ned was speaking really bad French. “Excuse me?”
“Cherchez la femme. Dang it, girl, aren’t you the one who’s been running around Paris? It means ‘look for the woman.’”
It was absurd to feel a spurt of jealousy at hearing Travis was involved with another woman. And really, wasn’t eight years long enough to forget those damning words? “No dice, Margot … I’m only interested in real women.” But that didn’t stop her from asking, “What woman was this? And how could she possibly have gotten him fired?”
Ned took his time answering, first spitting a stream of brown tobacco juice into an empty paper cup. Finally he replied unhelpfully, “All that was between your dad and Travis. It doesn’t matter anyhow. What’s past is past. What I can tell you is that Rosewood Farm is going to rack and ruin without Travis. Gulliver probably wouldn’t be injured if he’d been here to ride him.”
She frowned. “How did Gulliver get hurt?”
“One day last week, I came back from my lunch break to find Nicole galloping him over a jump course like he’s a seasoned Grand Prix jumper instead of a green hunter. She didn’t set him up properly for a double oxer, and he stumbled badly on the landing. By the time Nicole handed over the reins to Andy to start cooling him down, I could see he was favoring his foreleg. Now, if Travis had been here, there’s no way Nicole would ever have gotten on Gulliver’s back. Not even Nicole would have dared go up against Travis. But none of the other guys could stop her, scared she’d have had them sacked.” Ned pursed his lips as if tasting something sour.
Unfortunately the description tallied with Margot’s memories of her stepmother’s high-handedness.
“Well, as you can imagine, I had a few choice words for Nicole when Gulliver came up lame, but hell, the damage was done. And you know what four-year-olds are like—like teenagers in springtime, their heads lost in the clouds. If Gulliver’s laid up for three or four weeks, it’ll take twice that long to get him back to where he was in his training before his injury. So what are you and your sisters going to do?”
The abrupt change of topic threw her. “Do?” she repeated blankly. “Oh, you mean about Rosewood?”
He scowled impatiently. “’course I mean Rosewood.”
“I don’t know. I imagine Dad and Nicole’s lawyer will be contacting Jordan about the will.”
“May I speak plainly?”
“Of course.”
“Miss Jordan, although she’s a fine rider, was never bit by the horsebug like you, Miss Margot. Right now, this farm has two studs, ten broodmares, and nine of their get, all at different stages of training. RJ had a terrible round at Culpeper last week with Harvest Moon, a six-year-old gelding who’s our most promising prospect. They were eliminated after two refusals—not exactly the best advertisement for selling a hundred-thousand-dollar horse. But at least it forced RJ to accept that we needed a new rider and trainer. That’s what he and Nicole were doing in New Jersey. RJ decided to fly to Hunterdon so he could watch Davie Schott compete. They were considering him for the job.”

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Bulan adalah cukup terang untuk Margot mengembara atas Taman tanpa takut tersandung. Terganggu oleh pikiran dan kenangan, dia tidak membayar perhatian khusus terhadap arah sampai ia menoleh dan melihat gudang utama depannya, pintu ganda besar masih terbuka sehingga cahaya mengalir ke dalam halaman.Itu tidak terkejut bahwa kakinya telah membuatnya di sini. Rosewood's lumbung selalu perlindungan; kehangatan dari kuda ramping leher terhadap Nya pipi yang membawa penghiburan sebagai tidak ada yang lain bisa. Dia melangkah melalui pintu-pintu terbuka dan berkedip, menyesuaikan diri dengan cahaya.Itu seperti melangkah mundur dalam waktu. Hatinya membengkak di keakraban adegan: rapi menyapu lantai beton, panjang deretan kios-kios kotak, udara harum dari jerami dan kuda dan kayu serutan. Merasakan kehadirannya, kuda-kuda whickered dan bergeser gelisah, mengirim ranjang hamburan terhadap dinding kios. Tapi tidak ada manusia yang terlihat."Halo?" dia berseru.Pertengahan menyusuri lorong, seorang laki-laki berambut perak dengan membangun kurus melangkah keluar dari salah satu kios-kios. Dia meluncur menutup pintu kios dan melemparkan kait di tempat, kemudian menggantung tali kulit gelap di its hook logam, meluangkan waktu untuk memastikan itu persis berpusat. Gerakan dipicu ingatannya."Ned?" Margot berseru dalam kejutan.Ned Connelly berubah dengan awal. "Tuhan yang baik, adalah bahwa Anda, Miss Margot?" Dia bertanya, sudah bergerak terhadapnya.“Yes, Ned, it’s me.” Her voice quavered. “Gosh, it’s been a longtime.”“Too damn long.” He grasped both her hands in his. Though he must have been seventy, Ned’s grip was still strong. “Let me take a look at you.” His bright gaze inspected her from head to foot. He gave a pleased nod. “Like I told the boys, you’re a hundred times prettier in the flesh than they make you in those glossy pictures.” The teasing twinkle in his eye dimmed abruptly. “I heard about your stepmother. I’m awful sorry. How’s your father? Last time I called the hospital, they said he’d been moved to intensive care. Did they let you see him? How’s he doing?”Perhaps it was because Ned had known her forever, had dusted off her behind when a horse sent her flying into the dirt before matter-of-factly giving her a leg up, boosting her right back into the saddle, that she lost it. She began trembling. “He—he didn’t make it,” she stammered.Ned seemed to age ten years before her eyes. His face fell, his leathery skin crumpling into creases. His shoulders bowed under the weight of his grief, he lifted a trembling hand, and wiped his eyes.“Oh, hell,” he said thickly. “I can’t believe it. I was so sure a stubborn rascal like him would pull through. Ahh, Miss Margot, I’m gonna miss RJ, hardheaded fool that he was.”The deep affection in his voice undid her. Tears welled in her eyes ready to flow down her cheeks. Futilely she tried to wipe them away, but the dam had opened. “All I can think of is that I barely saw him and then he was gone. If I’d just had a little more time with him. God, I’m sorry for crying like this,” she said, hiccuping.“No need to apologize. I know how you loved your dad.” He fished a bandana from the front pocket of his dickeys—the type of work trousers he’d worn without fail for as long as she could remember—and pressed the folded square into her hand. It was soft with age and countless washings. Wrapping an arm about her, he said, “Come on into the office. There’s some coffee left in the pot. And a bottle of whiskey somewhere, too. We’ll talk.”Ned waited until Margot was seated in one of the cracked leather chairs before handing her a mug of coffee that he’d laced liberally with whiskey. He held up his own in a toast. “Here’s to your father. He was a good friend and one of the finest horsemen I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. May he rest in peace.”“May he rest in peace,” she echoed, and clinked her mug against his before taking a sip. The heat of the alcohol-laced coffee spread through her. Leary of drinking too much or too quickly when she had jet lag and hadn’t eaten in hours, she balanced the mug on her thigh. “Ned, what are you doing here so late, all by yourself?”“One of the four-year-olds, Gulliver, has a puffy tendon. I’ve been icing the leg to bring the swelling down. I’d just finished wrapping it and was saying good night to the fella.”“Shouldn’t Travis be doing that?” There, she’d said his name. Casually, too, as if this were the first time she’d even thought of him in eight years.But the canny light in Ned’s eyes made her wonder if she had even come close to fooling him. She thought of all the hungry, flirty glances she’d cast at Travis, all the silly ploys she’d stooped to in a bid for his attention. Ned had probably witnessed every one of them and remembered exactly how infatuated she’d been. She lifted the mug to her lips, drinking deeply to hide the blush warming her cheeks.Ned, too, took a long sip of his doctored coffee. “Yeah, I guess Travis would be tending Gulliver’s foreleg—if he were around. But RJ fired him.”“What!” she exclaimed, so startled she nearly dumped the coffee in her lap. “Dad fired Travis? When?”“A couple of months back. Although on days like these, it feels like Travis has been gone closer to a year.” Ned shook his head. “I told RJ I was too old to manage the entire operation. That’s why Travis took over for me in the first place. And he was doing a fine job.” He shook his head sadly.“Then why did Dad fire him?” She simply couldn’t understand it. Travis had been almost a son to her father. What could have happened?With a last swallow of his coffee, Ned leaned forward and plunked his mug onto the large oak desk, exchanging it for a round tin of chewing tobacco.“Why did he fire Travis?” he repeated as he scooped a fingerful of chaw from the tin and packed it between his lower lip and gum. “I’ll tell you why, Miss Margot. It’s like they say in the movies: ‘Cherchez la femme.’”She stared owlishly. The whiskey-laced coffee must have been stronger than she’d thought. She could have sworn Ned was speaking really bad French. “Excuse me?”“Cherchez la femme. Dang it, girl, aren’t you the one who’s been running around Paris? It means ‘look for the woman.’”It was absurd to feel a spurt of jealousy at hearing Travis was involved with another woman. And really, wasn’t eight years long enough to forget those damning words? “No dice, Margot … I’m only interested in real women.” But that didn’t stop her from asking, “What woman was this? And how could she possibly have gotten him fired?”Ned took his time answering, first spitting a stream of brown tobacco juice into an empty paper cup. Finally he replied unhelpfully, “All that was between your dad and Travis. It doesn’t matter anyhow. What’s past is past. What I can tell you is that Rosewood Farm is going to rack and ruin without Travis. Gulliver probably wouldn’t be injured if he’d been here to ride him.”She frowned. “How did Gulliver get hurt?”
“One day last week, I came back from my lunch break to find Nicole galloping him over a jump course like he’s a seasoned Grand Prix jumper instead of a green hunter. She didn’t set him up properly for a double oxer, and he stumbled badly on the landing. By the time Nicole handed over the reins to Andy to start cooling him down, I could see he was favoring his foreleg. Now, if Travis had been here, there’s no way Nicole would ever have gotten on Gulliver’s back. Not even Nicole would have dared go up against Travis. But none of the other guys could stop her, scared she’d have had them sacked.” Ned pursed his lips as if tasting something sour.
Unfortunately the description tallied with Margot’s memories of her stepmother’s high-handedness.
“Well, as you can imagine, I had a few choice words for Nicole when Gulliver came up lame, but hell, the damage was done. And you know what four-year-olds are like—like teenagers in springtime, their heads lost in the clouds. If Gulliver’s laid up for three or four weeks, it’ll take twice that long to get him back to where he was in his training before his injury. So what are you and your sisters going to do?”
The abrupt change of topic threw her. “Do?” she repeated blankly. “Oh, you mean about Rosewood?”
He scowled impatiently. “’course I mean Rosewood.”
“I don’t know. I imagine Dad and Nicole’s lawyer will be contacting Jordan about the will.”
“May I speak plainly?”
“Of course.”
“Miss Jordan, although she’s a fine rider, was never bit by the horsebug like you, Miss Margot. Right now, this farm has two studs, ten broodmares, and nine of their get, all at different stages of training. RJ had a terrible round at Culpeper last week with Harvest Moon, a six-year-old gelding who’s our most promising prospect. They were eliminated after two refusals—not exactly the best advertisement for selling a hundred-thousand-dollar horse. But at least it forced RJ to accept that we needed a new rider and trainer. That’s what he and Nicole were doing in New Jersey. RJ decided to fly to Hunterdon so he could watch Davie Schott compete. They were considering him for the job.”