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Posting a little early because I can. Please excuse the barf-resembling background.

Continuation of:

"The question is not whether we will die, but how we will live."
~Joan Borysenko

“In other news, prominent sire Ghost Pirate, owned by Black Creek Crossing Stables, died late last night from colic. He was twenty-eight years old. Ghost Pirates’ most illustrious foals include sprinters Edward Teach, Keep To the Code, Vagabond, and Intuned.”

Ethan’s ears had perked up at the sound of BCC Stables on the barn newscast. He paused and watched the little segment that showed Ghost Pirate and his foals through the years and couldn’t help but smile. Such a sad ending to a rocky story, but what a magnificent legacy the stallion had left behind. While his foals were well known for being fragile—courtesy of his Unbridled’s Song blood, Ethan knew—they in turn had been money makers in the breeding shed, especially his fillies. Intuned and Black Pearl were legends now, and the Ghost Pirate line would live on through them and their siblings. And, if he remembered correctly, BCC Stables still had one last Ghost Pirate foal to run—a gray filly, though hell if he could remember her name. Molasses? Talassa? Thalassa?

“Oy! Fancy pants! You’re cloggin’ the waterway. Move your arse!”

Ethan froze. That voice. He knew that voice. Slowly, he turned to look behind him.

And there she was. The prettiest, strangest girl he had ever met: Sierra. She looked just like she did upon their last—and only—meeting, with sweat-soaked curls, dusty riding clothes and piercing gray eyes at odds with her pixie face. He had never seen anyone so beautiful.

As he continued to stare, a fine brow raised expectantly. “I knew you were crazy with all the white you were wearing last time, but have you suddenly gone deaf, too? You’re blocking the way.” She jiggled the lead rope she held for emphasis. Ethan blinked out his stupor and leaped out of the way. Just in time, too, for the horse standing next to Sierra chose that moment to barrel through, doom to whoever was foolish enough to get in its way. Sierra just smiled and let the lead rope go.

Ethan squawked. “Are you crazy? You can’t just—” He made a mad grab for the flying lead rope, but the horse evaded him.

“Cool your jets, Joe.” Sierra strolled up behind him and poked him in the side, making him scowl and scurry sideways. “She’s headed for her stall. She just doesn’t like to be crowded is all. See?”

Sure enough, the filly slid to a halt next to an empty stall, loaded herself in, then grabbed the half-door between her teeth and pulled it shut. Ethan couldn’t believe it.

Seeing his stupefied expression, Sierra couldn’t help but laugh. She puffed up with pride. “That filly there is the smartest thing I’ve ever ridden.”

“You mean the smartest horse you’ve ever ridden?”

“No, the smartest thing.”

Ethan wasn’t touching that one with a ten-foot pole.

Instead, he kept his trap shut and walked closer to the young horse. She was a beautiful creature, cherry red all over without a speck of white to be seen. She was also very big. Judging on size alone, he would have said she was at least three years old, but his keen horseman’s eye noticed the underdeveloped muscles and had to question it. Could this big red thing really be a two-year-old?

“Who is she?” he asked.

Sierra smiled and shut the stall’s latch, locking the red filly in. “My newest mount,” she all but purred in happiness. “My boss, Gabe Nachita, just acquired her.”

Ethan cut a sharp glance to the pixie standing next to him. “Gabe Nachita? As in, the trainer who just won the Kentucky Derby? You work for Nachita?”

Now it was Sierra’s turn to eye the crazy one next to her. “Of course. Didn’t you recognize me?” Ethan shook his head. “Sierra Senz?” she continued. “Kentucky Derby winning jockey…?”

Really, if the man’s eyes got any wider they would pop right out of his skull. Then where would they be? “Shit!” he exclaimed. “You’re that Sierra? Shit!”

Sierra cocked a hip and arched a puzzled brow. “You know my name and my boss’s name, but you don’t recognize my face?”

Ethan had the decency to blush. “I’m bad with faces?”

She scoffed. “Nice try, Joe, but I’m thinking you’re just a recluse who doesn’t really want to be here at all. Instead, you’re forced here by your boss—what are you? Agent? Accountant? Reporter?—because you pulled the short straw and got the shit-end of a backwards horse. So, in that case you just wander around these stables with your head in the proverbial sand, waiting until you’re allowed to clock out for the day and head home; you don’t even pay attention to anything going on, you just keep trucking along blocking the pathways of hot-headed fillies and their jockeys. How’d I do? Hot? Cold? Lukewarm-ish?”

Ethan had long since glazed over and he had to blink repeatedly to refocus. “What, you’re cold? You need a sweater?”

“What the hell are you going on about now, Joe? Sweaters? You’re not making any sense!”

“I’m not making any sense?” he exclaimed. “You’re insane! And my name’s not Joe, it’s Ethan.”

Sierra rolled her eyes and leaned against the stall door. “I know who you are, Joe,” she snipped in that strange accent of hers. “I’m not stupid. You’d better not make any more assumptions like that ‘round this backstretch or someone might call the boggarts out on you.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose and willed his sudden headache away. Talking to this pretty pixie was about as painful as getting a root canal. Maybe worse. Nothing she said made any sense and this conversation was going nowhere fast.

“Ok, let’s just forget about names and faces and sweaters and get back to the filly, huh?” Please, please just let them get back to the filly.

“You forgot the boggarts.”

Was that a muscle tick developing in his left temple? Why yes, he believed it was.

He pointed firmly to the filly, who had stood glaring at them through the entire crazed conversation. “What’s her name?” he enunciated slowly.

Sierra blinked, then nearly blinded him with her ridiculously wide grin. Really, no one should be that happy all the time. But, he supposed that was crazy people for you. “Oh, right. This here’s Firebrand. Ain’t she a beaut?”

Beaut. Right. More like menace. If looks could kill… He shuddered and backed up a step. “Charming,” he wisped primly.

Sierra startled him with a slap on the shoulder. “Come on, Crazy Joe,” she said far too happily. “I need a drink.” And without further ado, she grabbed his elbow and dragged his barely-resisting ass out of the barns.

“But, but it’s morning! And you’re in your work clothes,” he protested feebly.

“So?” She cackled. “We’re both wearing white shirts today; we’re allowed to be a little crazy!”

And that was how Ethan Leach Holden Jr. started dating the craziest bachelorette on the backstretch.

Shown:

Ghost Pirate

Art, Characters and Story © me

And if you're curious, here's Sierra .

Next on:

Description
Posting a little early because I can. Please excuse the barf-resembling background.

Continuation of:

"The question is not whether we will die, but how we will live."
~Joan Borysenko

“In other news, prominent sire Ghost Pirate, owned by Black Creek Crossing Stables, died late last night from colic. He was twenty-eight years old. Ghost Pirates’ most illustrious foals include sprinters Edward Teach, Keep To the Code, Vagabond, and Intuned.”

Ethan’s ears had perked up at the sound of BCC Stables on the barn newscast. He paused and watched the little segment that showed Ghost Pirate and his foals through the years and couldn’t help but smile. Such a sad ending to a rocky story, but what a magnificent legacy the stallion had left behind. While his foals were well known for being fragile—courtesy of his Unbridled’s Song blood, Ethan knew—they in turn had been money makers in the breeding shed, especially his fillies. Intuned and Black Pearl were legends now, and the Ghost Pirate line would live on through them and their siblings. And, if he remembered correctly, BCC Stables still had one last Ghost Pirate foal to run—a gray filly, though hell if he could remember her name. Molasses? Talassa? Thalassa?

“Oy! Fancy pants! You’re cloggin’ the waterway. Move your arse!”

Ethan froze. That voice. He knew that voice. Slowly, he turned to look behind him.

And there she was. The prettiest, strangest girl he had ever met: Sierra. She looked just like she did upon their last—and only—meeting, with sweat-soaked curls, dusty riding clothes and piercing gray eyes at odds with her pixie face. He had never seen anyone so beautiful.

As he continued to stare, a fine brow raised expectantly. “I knew you were crazy with all the white you were wearing last time, but have you suddenly gone deaf, too? You’re blocking the way.” She jiggled the lead rope she held for emphasis. Ethan blinked out his stupor and leaped out of the way. Just in time, too, for the horse standing next to Sierra chose that moment to barrel through, doom to whoever was foolish enough to get in its way. Sierra just smiled and let the lead rope go.

Ethan squawked. “Are you crazy? You can’t just—” He made a mad grab for the flying lead rope, but the horse evaded him.

“Cool your jets, Joe.” Sierra strolled up behind him and poked him in the side, making him scowl and scurry sideways. “She’s headed for her stall. She just doesn’t like to be crowded is all. See?”

Sure enough, the filly slid to a halt next to an empty stall, loaded herself in, then grabbed the half-door between her teeth and pulled it shut. Ethan couldn’t believe it.

Seeing his stupefied expression, Sierra couldn’t help but laugh. She puffed up with pride. “That filly there is the smartest thing I’ve ever ridden.”

“You mean the smartest horse you’ve ever ridden?”

“No, the smartest thing.”

Ethan wasn’t touching that one with a ten-foot pole.

Instead, he kept his trap shut and walked closer to the young horse. She was a beautiful creature, cherry red all over without a speck of white to be seen. She was also very big. Judging on size alone, he would have said she was at least three years old, but his keen horseman’s eye noticed the underdeveloped muscles and had to question it. Could this big red thing really be a two-year-old?

“Who is she?” he asked.

Sierra smiled and shut the stall’s latch, locking the red filly in. “My newest mount,” she all but purred in happiness. “My boss, Gabe Nachita, just acquired her.”

Ethan cut a sharp glance to the pixie standing next to him. “Gabe Nachita? As in, the trainer who just won the Kentucky Derby? You work for Nachita?”

Now it was Sierra’s turn to eye the crazy one next to her. “Of course. Didn’t you recognize me?” Ethan shook his head. “Sierra Senz?” she continued. “Kentucky Derby winning jockey…?”

Really, if the man’s eyes got any wider they would pop right out of his skull. Then where would they be? “Shit!” he exclaimed. “You’re that Sierra? Shit!”

Sierra cocked a hip and arched a puzzled brow. “You know my name and my boss’s name, but you don’t recognize my face?”

Ethan had the decency to blush. “I’m bad with faces?”

She scoffed. “Nice try, Joe, but I’m thinking you’re just a recluse who doesn’t really want to be here at all. Instead, you’re forced here by your boss—what are you? Agent? Accountant? Reporter?—because you pulled the short straw and got the shit-end of a backwards horse. So, in that case you just wander around these stables with your head in the proverbial sand, waiting until you’re allowed to clock out for the day and head home; you don’t even pay attention to anything going on, you just keep trucking along blocking the pathways of hot-headed fillies and their jockeys. How’d I do? Hot? Cold? Lukewarm-ish?”

Ethan had long since glazed over and he had to blink repeatedly to refocus. “What, you’re cold? You need a sweater?”

“What the hell are you going on about now, Joe? Sweaters? You’re not making any sense!”

“I’m not making any sense?” he exclaimed. “You’re insane! And my name’s not Joe, it’s Ethan.”

Sierra rolled her eyes and leaned against the stall door. “I know who you are, Joe,” she snipped in that strange accent of hers. “I’m not stupid. You’d better not make any more assumptions like that ‘round this backstretch or someone might call the boggarts out on you.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose and willed his sudden headache away. Talking to this pretty pixie was about as painful as getting a root canal. Maybe worse. Nothing she said made any sense and this conversation was going nowhere fast.

“Ok, let’s just forget about names and faces and sweaters and get back to the filly, huh?” Please, please just let them get back to the filly.

“You forgot the boggarts.”

Was that a muscle tick developing in his left temple? Why yes, he believed it was.

He pointed firmly to the filly, who had stood glaring at them through the entire crazed conversation. “What’s her name?” he enunciated slowly.

Sierra blinked, then nearly blinded him with her ridiculously wide grin. Really, no one should be that happy all the time. But, he supposed that was crazy people for you. “Oh, right. This here’s Firebrand. Ain’t she a beaut?”

Beaut. Right. More like menace. If looks could kill… He shuddered and backed up a step. “Charming,” he wisped primly.

Sierra startled him with a slap on the shoulder. “Come on, Crazy Joe,” she said far too happily. “I need a drink.” And without further ado, she grabbed his elbow and dragged his barely-resisting ass out of the barns.

“But, but it’s morning! And you’re in your work clothes,” he protested feebly.

“So?” She cackled. “We’re both wearing white shirts today; we’re allowed to be a little crazy!”

And that was how Ethan Leach Holden Jr. started dating the craziest bachelorette on the backstretch.

Shown:

Ghost Pirate

Art, Characters and Story © me

And if you're curious, here's Sierra .

Next on: