“You don’t know that,” I say. “What if this is a wild horse that just happened to jump over the fence and sneak into their property?”
He smirks, watching the horse. It lowers its large head to the ground and gnaws on a piece of grass by the fence post. Its tail swishes.
“Right,” he says. “Because there are so many wild horses running through Saratoga.”
“You never know. There could be.”
“Why are you here if you’re afraid of horses?” he asks.
“It’s not for me,” I remind him. “It’s for Tina. As long as I don’t have to touch them or ride them, I’ll be fine.” I shudder.
“You must be Priscilla.” We both turn to see an older gentleman walking toward us. His boots are caked with dirt and his jeans are torn and dusty.
“That’s me,” I tell him. “And you must be Frank.”
I introduce him to Oliver, and then he offers to take us down to the stable to meet the rest of the horses. The stable is well-lit, and nicer than I expect. There are rows of horses of all different sizes and colors.
“The gray horses you asked about are back here,” Frank says, leading us around a corner.
“Gray?” I ask, alarmed. I exchange a look with Oliver. He frowns. “I’m looking for two white horses.”
I bite my lip as I follow Frank around the corner. He stops in front of one of the stalls and looks at me. “What you call white, I call gray,” he says.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” I say. “The horses need to be white.”
I’m already in panic mode as I approach the stall. The fair is coming up, and I don’t have much time to find two other white horses. Frank holds his hand out in a sweeping motion, gesturing toward the horse in the stall. I turn to look. A white stallion stands at the back. He shakes his head and lets out a grunt, then steps closer to us.
I put my hand over my chest and let out a breath. I look at Frank. “Are you messing with me? This horse is white.”
Frank chuckles. “That’s what most people who aren’t around horses much say. This here is a gray Arabian stallion.”
I look at Oliver. “Am I colorblind? This horse is white, right?”
Oliver shrugs. “It looks white to me.”
“The second one is over here,” Frank says. I follow him to the next stall. This horse looks identical to the first one. Both are white horses with white manes.
“Why do you call them gray?” I ask.
“Both of these guys were born black, believe it or not,” Frank says. “They were both fully gray by the time they were a few years old. Their hair may look white, but the skin underneath is still dark. In fact, I’m willing to bet that every white horse you’ve ever seen was actually gray. A truly white horse is extremely rare.”
“But… theyarewhite, right?”
“Depends on how you look at it,” Frank says.
I look at the horses again. “They look white.”
“I think Tina will be happy,” Oliver agrees. “She doesn’t have to know that they’re gray. Hell, the horses at Disney that pulled the carriage for her parents were probably gray, too.”
“They probably were,” Frank says, nodding.
I look back at the horses. Both are sticking their heads as far as they can out of their stalls. I take a step back and stand against the far wall so they can’t reach me. Oliver reaches his hand out and touches one of their muzzles. I cringe, imagining that the horse might bite his hand off. Their heads are so huge.
He looks over his shoulder at me and smirks. I’m about to tell him that it’s not funny, but then he reaches his hand out like he wants me to take it. I frown.
“Come here,” he says. “They’re not that scary. I’ll show you.”
I glance at Frank before I take a slow step forward. Oliver’s arm comes around my back, guiding me closer to the horse like I might run away. And honestly, I might.
