We drive a little down the lane, over a slight rise, and then a barn comes into sight. A beautiful barn, really, immaculately cared for and painted in shades of gray. Three little gables peak out of the roof and two little cupolas crown it, weathervanes at their peeks.
“Oh!” I say, completely charmed by the sight. But then I see the real draw. In a series of pastures beyond the barn, my eyes can just barely see a group of horses grazing in the afternoon light.
“Oh!” I say, louder this time, far more thrilled. “Is this a stable?!”
Kent laughs as he turns the car into a parking spot next to the barn. “I thought you’d like it,” he says seriously. “One look at you and anyone could tell you grew up dreaming of horses.”
I nod fervently, scrambling to unbuckle my seatbelt and open the doo
