Chapter 8 - The Foaling in the Spring
On the evening of May fourteenth, a warm, fragrant rain began to fall across central Kentucky, carrying the sweet scent of blooming honeysuckle, wet limestone, and turning clover off the hillsides.
At 11:30 PM, the primary foaling barn at Larkspur was illuminated by the soft, warm amber glow of four low-wattage heat lamps hanging from the rafters of Stall 1.
Noel sat on an upturned wooden cedar box outside the stall gate, wrapped in Adrien’s oversized sheepskin coat, her hands resting over the massive, beautiful dome of her thirty-eight-week pregnancy.
Inside the stall, lying in three feet of fresh, golden oat straw, was Lady’s Secret—Silas Hartley’s favorite broodmare, who was entering the second stage of labor.
Beside the mare knelt Adrien and Silas.
Both men had their shirtsleeves rolled past their elbows, their forearms covered in sterile veterinary lubricant, their movements synchronized, calm, and quiet as they guided the foal’s front hooves through the birth canal with the ancient, practiced gentleness of true stockmen.
"Easy, girl," Silas murmured, his hand resting on the mare’s damp neck, his thumb stroking the rhythmic vein along her jaw. "Easy now. The legs are straight. The muzzle is clear."
Adrien leaned forward, his large, scarred hands taking the foal’s pasterns, applying gentle, steady traction in time with the mare’s contractions.
With a soft, fluid rush of birth water and warm breath, the foal slid out into the straw.
A colt.
Chestnut, with a wide, irregular white blaze down the center of his face—the unmistakable, historic mark of the old Hartley bloodline that had won the Kentucky Derby in nineteen seventy-four.
The little horse gave a sharp, wet snort, shook his head, and immediately began to extend his long, stilted legs against the straw, trying to find his footing before his coat was even dry.
Adrien let out a long, ragged, joyful breath that ended in a laugh. He looked over the stall gate at Noel, his face smeared with straw dust and sweat, his gray eyes shining with an absolute, unassailable radiance that lit up the entire barn.
"A colt, Noel," Adrien whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "A chestnut colt with your father's blaze."
Noel started to stand up from the cedar box to look into the stall.
And then, she stopped.
A sharp, breathless gasp caught in her throat.
Her right hand flew to the lower curve of her abdomen, her fingers digging deep into the heavy sheepskin of the coat as a sudden, concussive wave of heat and pressure tightened across her lower spine like an iron band.
The mug of tea she was holding slipped from her fingers, shattering against the concrete pavers with a dull, clean clink.
Adrien was across the stall gate before the broken ceramic had stopped rocking.
He cleared the five-foot wooden divider in a single, explosive athletic leap, his boots landing in the aisle, his arms wrapping around Noel’s shoulders before her knees could even begin to buckle.
"Noel?" Adrien gasped, his hands instantly finding her waist, his face turning pale beneath the stable dust.
Noel looked up into his terrified, loving eyes, a breathless, radiant laugh breaking through her lips despite the fierce, tearing contraction that was rolling through her hips.
"Adrien," she whispered, her hands grasping his lapels with an iron, unbreakable grip.
"What is it, honey? What do you need?"
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"Call Dr. Ruiz at the university hospital," Noel smiled, resting her forehead against his chest, feeling the wild, galloping thunder of his heart beneath her cheek.
"The master of Larkspur is ready to meet his horses."
