Erica Sinclair - The Range War (M/F)

[LunaDog]

I fully understand, Erica is a very busy person, and cats, as a general rule of thumb, are a lot 'lower maintenance' than dogs. As i well know!

[GreyLord]

The game is afoot! The tension is high.

[Jenny_S]

Dear all, as @GreyLord said, the game is afoot. Very afoot. Let's continue!

[Jenny_S]

A man steps into view - mid-forties, fit, with an easy smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His black Stone Ridge cashmere sweater pairs nicely with his well-pressed khakis, an expensive watch peeking from beneath his sleeve. His handshake is firm – a little too firm for Erica’s taste.
"Patrick Gibbon," he introduces himself. "Welcome to Stone Ridge. I think you’ll find we have exactly what you’re looking for."

“I hope so,” Erica says, extracting her hand from Gibbon’s grasp, which lingers just a fraction too long. With practiced ease, she slips a business card from her bag and hands it to him.
“I own a Cleveland Bay mare - finest English stock,” Her voice is laced with just enough pride to fit the persona she’s adopting. “The offspring of Hornblower and Empress. She’s currently stabled over at Ironwood.”

Gibbon’s brows lift slightly, his interest piqued. “I see. A remarkable bloodline.” He nods slowly, considering her words. “It’s understandable that you’d want her in a better place. One where she’s safe.”

“Correct.” Erica’s lips curve into a polite but knowing smile. “Shame they couldn’t live up to their promise…”
Gibbon’s mouth twitches at the corners. “Yes, well.,” he says smoothly, making a sweeping gesture toward the property. “Allow me to show you around, Mrs. Sinclair. I’m sure you’ll see that Stone Ridge Equestrian offers a safe and, in every way, superior environment for your Bay.”

Erica falls into step beside him, her sharp gaze cataloging every polished surface, every carefully curated element of luxury that Stone Ridge exudes.

They pass through the main administration building, where the gleam of polished marble floors and the muted scent of fresh flowers create an ambiance of exclusivity. A grand chandelier casts soft golden light over the reception area, where uniformed staff flit about efficiently.

Gibbon leads Erica past the administration building, the click of her polished moccasins on the pristine pavement contrasting with the muted hush of the manicured estate. Every inch of Stone Ridge radiates opulence - nothing out of place, nothing left to chance.

“We cater both to the owner and the horse,” Gibbon says, gesturing toward the glass-walled restaurant overlooking a landscaped terrace. “Our cuisine is international. The head chef is Michelin-starred, and the bar is stocked with the finest selections. Only the best.”

The air is rich with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and grilled breakfast meats, a decadent contrast to the more rustic charm of Ironwood. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, Erica glimpses the restaurant’s terrace lined by manicured hedges. Well-dressed patrons sip espresso from delicate porcelain cups, their laughter drifting through the air like the clink of fine crystal.
She says nothing, merely offering an intrigued nod, though inwardly, she’s already reading between the lines. Stone Ridge isn’t just a stable - it’s a lifestyle. A world carefully constructed for the wealthy elite, where money doesn’t just buy comfort; it buys silence.

Gibbon continues, leading her toward a pair of modern guest lodges nestled behind the main complex. “For those who choose to stay on-site with their horses, we offer full-service accommodations - rooms, suites, or, for those preferring even more privacy, one of our exclusive cabins.”
He swipes his keycard through the lock of a suite and swings the door open.

Erica steps inside, and the outside world falls silent. The air is crisp, filtered, temperature-controlled. A far cry from Ironwood’s warm, familiar scent of leather and hay, this space smells of fresh linens and expensive wood polish. The bed, king-sized and immaculately made, could belong in a luxury resort.

“Many of our clients require discretion,” Gibbon explains, watching her reaction. “Our security is second to none. Individually coded WLAN for private business meetings, soundproofing to ensure peace and quiet - privacy is our priority.”

Erica trails a finger along the smooth edge of the marble-topped nightstand, nodding. “Impressive.”

They move on, walking across the paved pathways toward the heart of the operation - the stables. The building doesn’t look like a barn at all. Sleek, modern, and architecturally refined, its large doors open with a whisper, revealing a spotless interior. Spacious stalls house gleaming horses standing on thick, fresh bedding. The air smells of cedar shavings and faintly of peppermint - no trace of sweat or manure.

“Our stables are accessible 24/7,” Gibbon says. “Each stall is equipped with a high-definition security camera, which you can access anytime via our app. Total transparency.”
He gestures toward a sleek digital panel mounted on the wall. With a tap, live footage from various stalls flickers into view.

“You determine your horse’s diet, exercise routine, and medical care. We have top veterinarians on-site, and our staff is composed exclusively of experienced horse lovers.”

The sales pitch is flawless, the facilities beyond reproach. And yet, something about it all feels… sterile. Controlled. This has nothing to do with a stable.

They step through a set of glass doors leading to the paddocks, where a few immaculately groomed horses graze within white-fenced enclosures. Beyond them, the covered riding arena hums with quiet activity. A group of young girls in pristine riding gear practice under the watchful eye of a sharp-looking instructor. Their ponies move in perfect rhythm, their coats shining under the arena’s floodlights.

“I assume you’re an experienced horsewoman,” Gibbon says, studying her. “But we have expert trainers who can help you perfect your skills.”

Beyond the covered arena, the open-air riding grounds unfold - an equestrian’s dream. A full show-jumping course, with meticulously arranged hurdles and flawless footing, gleams under the morning sun.

“Whatever discipline you prefer, we have the facilities to match.”

Erica nods thoughtfully, deciding it’s time to probe. “You see, what attracted me to Ironwood are the natural riding trails. Your facilities are admirable - Olympic-style, no doubt - but I’m afraid we’d be missing cross-country riding.”

Gibbon’s expression shifts, interest flickering behind his carefully maintained demeanor.
“We’re addressing that,” he says smoothly. “We’re always expanding. In the near future, we’ll have a cross-country park as well.”

Erica lifts a brow. “Here on-site?”

“No,” Gibbon replies, tone casual - too casual. “Across the fence, so to say.” He gestures vaguely toward the far end of the property, in the direction of Ironwood. “Now that disaster has struck and my neighbor has lost nearly all her clients, she’ll have no choice but to sell.”

There it is.
Erica keeps her expression neutral, but her pulse quickens. He speaks as if Margaret Henshaw’s downfall is a foregone conclusion, as if it was always meant to happen.

“Right,” she says, letting the word sit between them, unreadable. “I like to hear that.”

Gibbon leads her back toward the administration building, pausing at his office door, a windowless room. With a gracious sweep of his hand, he opens it.

“Please, have a seat.” He pulls out a chair, waiting for Erica to settle into it.

She does so, smoothly crossing one leg over the other, maintaining the poised elegance that the moment calls for.

Gibbon moves behind his desk, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air slightly overpowering the clinical scent coming from the air purifier. “Can I interest you in a cup of coffee,” he offers, his tone casual but his gaze assessing. “A glass of champagne? Or perhaps… something stronger?”
A test.
Erica offers a slow smile, tilting her head slightly. “This time of the day, coffee will do,” she replies, watching him carefully. “Two Sweet’n Low, splash of almond milk.”
She may have walked into Stone Ridge playing the part of an affluent horse owner, but she has no illusions about the stakes.

This is a dangerous game.

And she’s just made her first move.


~~~

[Caesar73]

Erica plays her Role perfectly. She is aware of the Risks she is taking. Gibbon is smooth, competent - maybe a bit of both. And both a bit too much. Interesting Character he is

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, it's a resort for the rich and the beautiful - equestrian style - what can possibly go wrong?

[Jenny_S]

Gibbon presses a button on the sleek intercom panel embedded in his gleaming desk. His voice is smooth, almost lazy.

“Lissy, honey, would you bring us an Americano and a coffee - two Sweet’n Low, splash of almond milk?”

A faint crackle of acknowledgment comes through before he releases the button, turning his full attention back to Erica.
With an easy smile, he pulls a glossy brochure from the top drawer, the subtle sound of paper sliding across the polished wood sounding almost deliberate.

“Take a look, please,” he says, pushing it toward her with a casual flick of his fingers.

Erica picks it up but doesn’t immediately read it. Instead, she studies him, letting the silence stretch just long enough for it to register. Gibbon meets her gaze, unfazed, reclining ever so slightly in his chair as though he owns not just the room, but the air within it.

The soft click of the office door opening breaks the tension. Lissy enters, balancing a silver tray with practiced grace. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee curls through the air, rich and inviting. She places the drinks down with a quiet efficiency, setting the custom-modified coffee before Erica and the unadorned Americano before her boss.

“Anything else, Mr. Gibbon?” she asks, flashing a bright, polished smile - the kind that comes from hours of customer service training.

“That’ll be all for now, honey.” Gibbon doesn’t look at her as he picks up his cup, his focus never straying from Erica.

The moment Lissy slips out, the atmosphere shifts. It’s just the two of them again, the room insulated from the outside world by thick walls and the ever-present hum of discreet air filtration.
Gibbon gestures lazily to the brochure. “We offer four VIP packages, each designed to provide an elite experience for both horse and owner. Of course, we’re more than happy to tailor any of them to your exact needs.”

Erica sets the brochure down without looking at the price tags, just as if she wouldn’t care or if money wasn’t the issue. “That’s comforting to hear.”
She lifts her coffee cup, inhaling the deep, aromatic scent before taking a slow sip. It’s excellent - smooth, balanced, exactly the way she likes it.
Despite the true reason for her to be here, at least the coffee will be good.
“I’d like to stay for a week to see how my darling settles in. You have the means to bring her here, I presume?”

Gibbon smiles over the rim of his cup. “From Ironwood?”
He chuckles, low and knowing. “Mrs. Sinclair, we can have her here within the hour if that’s your wish.”
He leans back, exuding the relaxed confidence of a man who holds all the cards. “Frankly, I’d say the sooner the better - for her sake. Who knows what kind of accident might happen next over there?”
The statement is casual, offhanded. And yet, it lands with weight.

Erica lets her cup hover just below her lips, her expression unreadable. “By speaking of…” she begins lightly, before taking another measured sip. “When did you say the country riding park would be available?”

Gibbon watches her, his own cup cradled in his palm. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he allows a small, amused smile to surface, as though entertained by the game they’re both playing.
“The way things are going,” he says, his tone as smooth as the espresso in his cup, “Mrs. Henshaw should be… ready to sell her property by the end of next week.”
His eyes flicker with something that isn’t quite amusement, nor is it pity. “It’s a shame, really. Ironwood had its charm, but poor Margaret just couldn’t keep up with the times. The market demands excellence.”

Erica sets her cup down with deliberate care, meeting his gaze head-on.

She doesn’t blink.

She doesn’t smile.

And neither does he.

For the briefest moment, the polished veneer of pleasantries thins, revealing something else beneath. Something colder. Something final.

He watches her reaction carefully, gauging her level of interest. Erica hesitates just long enough to make it look natural before she sets her coffee down. Then, tilting her head slightly, she exhales a quiet chuckle - just enough to suggest something shared between them.

“I can’t say that upsets me.” She lets the words sit between them, then leans back, swirling the coffee in her cup before taking another slow sip. “Margaret Henshaw and I… let’s just say we have a bit of history.”

Gibbon’s brows lift just slightly - an almost imperceptible reaction, but she catches it. He wasn’t expecting that.

She lowers her cup, watching him over the rim.
A flicker of something flashes behind his eyes - satisfaction, perhaps, or amusement. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced with his usual air of effortless charm.

“Interesting take,” Gibbon says smoothly, setting his own cup down. He folds his hands together on the desk, regarding her with something approaching curiosity. “I’d love to hear more about that.”

Erica smiles - slow, deliberate, like a gambler laying down their first card.
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to trade stories once I know my Bay is safe.”

The hook is baited.
Now, she just has to wait for him to bite.


~~~


It doesn’t take Gibbon long to bite - maybe five seconds at most. A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes, like a gambler who’s just been dealt a favorable hand. He leans forward slightly, steepling his fingers.

“Shall we proceed with getting your mount stabled here,” he asks smoothly, not missing the opportunity to seal the deal.
Then, after the briefest of pauses, he adds, “And since I’d like to give you the opportunity to sample our cuisine, may I invite you to lunch after we’ve moved your - Bay, you said she is - in?”

It’s a test, subtle but unmistakable. An invitation wrapped in an evaluation. He wants to test the waters and find out what kind of bad blood might exist between Erica Sinclair and Margaret Henshaw – and how he might be able to exploit it.

Erica offers a slight smile, just enough to appear interested but not overeager. “Sounds like a wonderful plan, Mr. Gibbon.”
She takes another sip of her coffee before setting the cup down, deliberately casual. “I’d also like to be present when your people transport Lea. I assume that won’t be a problem?”

Gibbon’s smile doesn’t falter. “Of course, Mrs. Sinclair. We are at your service.” He lifts his cup again, his voice as smooth as the Americano within. “I’m sure you and… Lea… will have a perfect experience here at Stone Ridge Equestrian.”

The words settle between them, weightless and polished - just like everything else in this place.


~~~

[Caesar73]

Dear @Caesar73, it's a resort for the rich and the beautiful - equestrian style - what can possibly go wrong?

If you ask? I imagine a lot

[LunaDog]

Interesting. The original stables, which house Erica's horse, is clearly a working stable, smelling 'horse activity,' that puts THEIR needs first. The second, run by Gibbon, is almost a 'holiday complex,' dedicated far more to the owner's whims, where the animals are almost secondary. And, obviously not beyond 'dirty tricks.'

[RopeBunny]

It's a good game Erica's playing. Dangerous and with many possibilities for failure, but a good game.

Enjoyable to read. Liking the twists, the way you're unfolding the story.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, let your imagination run wild, I say!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, you're right. One might wonder if the horses are some sort of accessory for the politely bored at Stone Ridge.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @RopeBunny, I'm glad you enjoy the story. Let's find out what happens next!

[Jenny_S]

Not even half an hour later, a sleek black pickup truck with Stone Ridge’s insignia on its doors rolls down the pristine driveway, a glossy horse trailer hitched behind it. The vehicle moves with the ease of something practiced, a routine that has been executed many times before.

Erica follows closely behind in her Volvo, gripping the wheel with one hand while the other slips into her blazer pocket to retrieve her phone.
She dials.
Margaret Henshaw picks up almost immediately.

“Mrs. Henshaw, I’m on my way over. Just one thing: whatever happens next, just play along. We’ll bring Lea to Stone Ridge so I can look into what’s going on here. I’ll explain everything later. Don’t worry - just go with it.”

A beat of silence. Then… “Okay.” Margaret’s voice is wary, uncertain, but she doesn’t question it, hoping that Erica knows what she is doing.


~~~


Margaret Henshaw stands by the bunkhouse, watching the two vehicles pull into the stable yard.
This isn’t the first time she’s seen a Stone Ridge truck on her property. But each time, it has felt like another nail hammered into Ironwood’s coffin.

Another client lost.

Another piece of her legacy slipping away.

And now… even Erica Sinclair is taking her horse elsewhere.

Margaret’s throat tightens as she watches Erica step out of her black Volvo, her posture composed, exuding the same quiet confidence she always has. Except this time, something feels different.

She doesn’t linger. She moves with purpose, striding past Margaret without so much as a glance, her sharp gaze fixed on the Stone Ridge employees as they lower the trailer ramp.
Then, as if she owns the place, Erica walks straight into the stable and emerges moments later, leading Lea by the reins.

The Cleveland Bay mare moves with effortless grace, her muscles shifting beneath her brown coat as she follows Erica up the ramp without hesitation. The Stone Ridge men watch, their expressions unreadable, but their presence heavy.

Erica gives them a small, almost imperceptible nod. A signal.

The ramp locks into place. The trailer is secured. Lea is no longer an Ironwood horse.

Only then does Erica turn to face Margaret.

Crossing her arms, she tilts her chin just slightly - a posture of quiet authority. Of finality.
Her stomach twists. This isn’t who she is. But if she doesn’t sell it, the door to Stone Ridge she has opened might close on her.

“This is the end, Margaret.”
Her voice is cold, edged with quiet venom - so unlike Erica that even Margaret, who knew that something was coming, hesitates.

“You shouldn’t have messed with me.” Erica’s tone is sharp enough to cut. “Now you can reap what you sowed.”

Margaret blinks, momentarily at a loss. Even though she was prepped, the force of it still catches her off guard.
“But… what… why…” she stammers, her hands twitching helplessly at her sides.

Erica steps closer, her stance unwavering. “You had it coming, Henshaw.” Her voice carries, designed to be overheard by the Stone Ridge men standing nearby. There’s a deliberate iciness in the words, a quiet cruelty that doesn’t belong to her - but belongs perfectly to the character she’s playing now.

Offering a mean smirk, she lets her gaze linger on Margaret just another moment to ensure the Stone Ridge men fully buy the act.
She cocks her head slightly, looking at Mrs. Henshaw with disdain bordering on hate.

The older woman, hardened by decades of work on her horse ranch, wants to take a step forward and demand an explanation, but she hesitates, realizing that whatever this is, she has no other option than to play along. Fingers clutching the fabric of her sweater, she resists the urge to act.

Then, barely moving her lips, Erica adds in a whisper only Margaret can hear:
“Don’t worry. It’s an act for Gibbon’s men. I’ll explain later.”

Margaret stiffens, her expression flickering between confusion and understanding.

Erica doesn’t wait for a response. She pivots on her heel, striding back toward the vehicles, her steps crisp and deliberate.
Without hesitation, she signals the Stone Ridge employees.

“We're done here. Take her to her new stable.”

They exchange glances, then move efficiently, double-checking the locks before climbing into the truck. The engine hums to life, and the trailer pulls away, disappearing down the driveway in a cloud of dust.

Erica exhales slowly as she slides into her Volvo, pressing her palms briefly against the steering wheel before turning the ignition.
She watches the trailer in front of her, her expression unreadable.

Only now she feels the thin layer of cold sweat that had built up down her spine while she acted like she had an axe to grind with Mrs Henshaw.
Nerves…

She just hopes Margaret really understands that she’s just playing a role for the sake of finding out what’s brewing behind Stone Ridge’s polished façade.

Because if there was even the slightest misstep - then this entire charade could unravel faster than she could piece it back together.

She shifts into reverse, backs away from Ironwood, turning her car around following the truck down the road.

For now, the game continues.
And she has to play her hand perfectly.


~~~

[LunaDog]

Well, Erica, and Margaret, are really committed now. Hope she can find out just what she is looking for.

[Caesar73]

Well, Erica, and Margaret, are really committed now. Hope she can find out just what she is looking for.

I do hope that too This is a Maze of Intrigue!

[Caesar73]

Well, Erica, and Margaret, are really committed now. Hope she can find out just what she is looking for.

Erica plays this very convincingly. Margaret must think Erica is leaving her. Even Erica´s Purpose is justified, it must be hard for Margarete to swallow that Pill.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, for Erica, it's about Lea, while Margaret is fighting for her existence.
We will see how this plays out.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, let's hope Margaret trusts Erica's word and judgement.
She's been fighting an uphill battle against some anonymous enemy for a while.

[Caesar73]

Dear @Caesar73, let's hope Margaret trusts Erica's word and judgement.
She's been fighting an uphill battle against some anonymous enemy for a while.

Indeed, let us keep fingers crossed!

[Jenny_S]

The rhythmic clatter of hooves on the trailer’s ramp echoes through the crisp afternoon air as Erica leads Lea down onto the Stone Ridge stable yard’s pristine gravel. The Cleveland Bay mare gives a quiet snort, ears flicking forward as she adjusts to her new surroundings.
She’s nervous - but not scared.
With a gentle touch, Erica runs her fingers through Lea’s thick black mane, murmuring, “You’ll be fine, girl. I’m here.”

The mare responds by rubbing her velvety nose against Erica’s shoulder, a small but reassuring gesture, as if seeking confirmation that this transition is acceptable. Erica smiles softly, giving her a firm pat on the neck.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Patrick Gibbon standing across the yard, talking to the two men who transported Lea. His posture is effortlessly confident - hands in his pockets, chin lifted just slightly. He isn’t watching Lea. He’s watching her.
Measuring. Assessing.

A slow, knowing smirk plays at his lips before he turns his attention back to his employees.
Erica ignores the weight of his gaze and guides Lea forward, stepping into the cool shade of the stable. The scent of cedar, fresh hay, oiled leather and peppermint mingles with the faint, earthy musk of horses, grounding her in familiarity.

Lea lifts her head, nostrils flaring as she takes in the new smells. Her ears flick, attuned to the sounds around her - soft whinnies from unseen horses, the shuffle of hooves against bedding, the distant clang of a gate being latched.

A woman emerges from an office to the right, moving with the ease of someone who has spent her entire life around horses. She’s a little younger than Erica, with strong shoulders, sun-kissed skin, and a confident, open expression.
With an easy smile, she extends her hand. “Hello! I’m Kelly Garner, Stablemaster. Well, Stablemistress, actually.”

Erica shakes her hand, noting the firm grip. “Erica Sinclair. This is Lea.”

Kelly’s gaze immediately flickers to the mare, her touch instinctive and gentle as she runs a hand along Lea’s muscular neck. There’s no forced charm in the way she handles her - just quiet appreciation, the kind only true horse lovers possess.

“I’ve heard about you,” Kelly says, her voice warm. “And you, too, Lea. Mr. Gibbon mentioned you were royalty - best English stock, Hornblower and Empress, right?”

Erica inclines her head slightly. “Correct.”

Lea’s lineage has never mattered to her, not in the way it seems to matter to everyone else. In her book, bloodlines don’t define a horse’s worth. If Lea were a scrappy farm horse with an uneven gait and no pedigree to her name, Erica would love her just the same. Just as she loves Spot and Tiger, the two abandoned kittens Claire found on the office doorstep one morning along with their two siblings.

Kelly must catch the shift in her expression because she gives a knowing smile. “She’s wonderful,” she says simply.

Erica nods. “She is.”

“And she obviously adores you.” Kelly’s eyes soften as she watches the mare nuzzle against Erica’s side. “That counts for more than bloodline ever could.”

For the first time since setting foot on Stone Ridge property, Erica feels the faintest trace of ease. Gibbon told her his staff consists only of horse lovers - but she hadn’t quite believed him.
Now, standing here, she wonders if Kelly is the rare exception in this place.
Erica presses a kiss to the white star on Lea’s forehead. “You’ll take good care of her, won’t you?”

Kelly places a hand over her heart in mock solemnity. “Like she was my own.”

Something in her tone suggests she means every word.
Then - casually, but not without intent - Kelly adds, “You had her over at Ironwood Pastures, right?”

A chill passes through Erica’s spine.
It’s a harmless question. An innocent observation.
Or is it?

She studies Kelly for a beat, searching for any flicker of hidden motive in her face. The woman seems genuine. Kind, even. But that could be dangerous.
Bonding with her over a shared love for horses might be a mistake. It could be fatal to trust too easily.

Erica keeps her voice even. “Yes.”
She gives nothing away.

Kelly nods, running a hand absently down Lea’s neck. “Mrs. Henshaw has forgotten more about horses than most people could ever know.”

There’s no malice in her words, just quiet respect.
But Erica files that away.
Kelly might be worth talking to again. Later.
Smoothly, she changes the subject. “Which stall is hers?”

Kelly doesn’t press further. “I’ll show you. Follow me, please.”

She leads them to a vacant stall, its floor clean and freshly strewn with fine wood shavings and straw. The air is crisp with the scent of pine and hay, and the wooden slats gleam under the afternoon light streaming through the stable’s high windows.

“This one’s all hers,” Kelly says, stepping aside to let Erica guide Lea in.

As the mare settles, Kelly pulls out her phone, scrolling through an app before turning the screen toward Erica.
“I need you to pick her meal plan.”

Erica skims the options.

“I suggest a diet mainly of hay, supplemented with oats every few days - depending on her exercise level,” Kelly explains. “We only feed mountain hay here. No pesticides. Natural. Keeps the veterinarian away.”
She grins.

For the first time since she arrived, Erica feels a real smile tug at her lips. “I like that attitude, Mrs. Garner.”

Kelly smirks. “Good. Then we’ll get along just fine.”

As Erica reaches out to confirm the selection, she can’t shake the feeling that this woman - this stablemistress with sharp instincts and an easy charm - might be someone worth keeping close.
If nothing else, she might prove useful.
And in this place, useful could make all the difference.


~~~


Kelly waves, summoning one of the stable hands over. As he approaches, she introduces him to Erica and Lea before rattling off a set of instructions about the mare’s feed.

Erica, meanwhile, catches a subtle difference in the air. She steps toward the stainless steel water basin in Lea’s stall, inhaling lightly, searching for the faint sting of chemicals. But there’s nothing. No chlorine.

Kelly notices. “Fresh spring water.” she explains with a small smile. “We filter it, but we don’t treat it with anything. Horses hate the taste of chlorine.”

Erica nods, impressed. “Good.”
She already feels a little better about leaving Lea in this place.

“If you don’t mind,” Kelly continues, “I’ll take her out to the paddock so she can get acquainted.”

Erica runs a hand down Lea’s sleek neck, fingers tracing the familiar warmth of her coat. “Sure,” she says. She has the distinct sense that Lea will be in good hands with Kelly and her crew.
She leans in, pressing her cheek gently against the mare’s head. “Enjoy your day, girl,” she murmurs, rubbing the white star between her eyes.
Lea exhales softly, nudging Erica’s shoulder in return.

With one last glance, Erica steps back, watching as Kelly leads the mare down the aisle. The glass doors at the far end of the stable gleam under the afternoon light, offering a glimpse of the paddock beyond. Sunlit fields. Rolling green pastures.
Lea doesn’t hesitate. She follows Kelly without resistance, her tail flicking once before they disappear through the doors.

Only when they’re gone does Erica check her Rolex.
Time to pick up her welcome package.

She makes her way back to the main building, slipping through the polished entrance and into the reception area. Louisa - the blonde receptionist from earlier - looks up immediately, offering the same practiced, effortless smile.
“Mrs. Sinclair,” she greets smoothly. “Welcome again. Everything is ready for you.”

Without missing a beat, she slides a neatly arranged packet across the counter. Brochures, manuals, a keycard - all perfectly aligned.

Erica picks up the access card, running her thumb over the embossed logo.
Louisa leans in slightly. “There’s no need to carry money around.” she explains. “Your access card covers all transactions within Stone Ridge. Any dining at the restaurant, purchases at the Equestrian Pro Store, or additional services will be charged to your account and billed to your credit card of choice at checkout.”

“Very convenient,” Erica says, signing the lodging agreement with a quick, fluid motion. She adds Lea’s boarding paperwork, then slides everything back across the counter. “Thank you, Louisa.”

Louisa accepts the forms with a professional nod. “Would you like one of the hands to bring your luggage to your suite?”

Erica shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary.”
She absently flexes her biceps under her blazer, more out of habit than show. The idea of strangers handling her things doesn’t sit well with her.

“Of course,” Louisa replies, smile intact, unfazed.

With that, Erica gathers her welcome package, pockets the access card, and strides toward the parking lot.
Her black Volvo sits exactly where she left it, gleaming under the late-afternoon sun. She pops the trunk, retrieving her travel bag in one smooth motion.

As she slings it over her shoulder, she casts a quick glance around.
This place is polished. Efficient. Almost too perfect, like a holiday resort with horses, but it seems to attract the right crowd. Margaret had said it had been created for the rich and the beautiful and that’s the impression Erica got, too.

For now, she plays along.
But she’ll be watching.
And listening.
Because sooner or later, the cracks will show.


~~~

[Caesar73]

Wonderfully written: The Intro in this Chapter. And we get to know Lea´s new Home more closely. On first sight the Stablemistress seems true enough. And Erica seems to like her too. At first Glance everythings seems well, polished even.

But as Erica says:: The Cracks will show ....

[LunaDog]

Hornblower?

Was the inspiration for this name the fictional naval officer, Horatio Hornblower, from the Napoleonic period, the creation of legendary writer C.S. Forester? And, the early novels anyway, turned into a T.V. series, with the main character played by Ioan Gruffudd? If so, a VERY inspired choice.

And yes, i have read all of the 'Hornblower' books.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, let's hope that Lea is in good hands with the Stablemistress. She seems to have become a fan favorite in such a short time.

Dear @LunaDog, you caught me. With Lea introduced as "finest English stock" in a previous story, I wanted the names for her sire and dam to reflect this. You're right, Lea's sire is 100% named after the famous Horatio Hornblower.
It's all part of what over the course of 15 published stories has become the Ericaverse.

By the way: I've just finished writing story #20 which contains more than one nod to my readers. Some of you have asked for specific scenes and characters and I have listened.

[Caesar73]

Hornblower?

Was the inspiration for this name the fictional naval officer, Horatio Hornblower, from the Napoleonic period, the creation of legendary writer C.S. Forester? And, the early novels anyway, turned into a T.V. series, with the main character played by Ioan Gruffudd? If so, a VERY inspired choice.

And yes, i have read all of the 'Hornblower' books.

I am also an ardent Fan of the Hornblower-Novels! Too bad, the TV-Series ended after eight Episodes if Memories serve. There is also a Movie starring Gregory Peck as Hornblower, from 1951. A true Classic!

@Jenny_S I hope you excuse the excourse here