Friday's Folly: A Sinclair Island Romance, #3

By Hilary Walker

Falling in love will destroy his dream of leaving the island. But can he stop himself?

 

Max is desperate to get off Sinclair Island and away from a dead-end job working for his widowed father.

 

Then he and his horse literally run into the feisty and attractive Camille.

 

Trouble is, she's just begun a career on the very island he longs to escape from.  He'll have to fight his feelings for the pretty vet tech if he has any hope of starting life on the mainland.

 

Camille brings Friday's Folly, her newly-rescued racehorse, to Sinclair Stables. She discovers that Max has valuable experience training Off Track Thoroughbreds, which she lacks, but she's having a hard time getting him to thaw. His irreverence towards God also troubles her.

 

When his horse goes missing, Camille is able to help, and uses the opportunity to engage him in lively discussions.  Max struggles hard to refute her arguments for God – and keep his emotional distance.

 

But when her prayers on his behalf are answered, he's forced to rethink his position about God.

 

And about Camille.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hilary Walker
• Release date: Jul 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393429708

Hilary Walker

British born bestselling author Hilary Walker writes uplifting Christian fiction that transports readers into the healing world of horses. She lives on Hilton Head Island with two British bulldogs and her husband, who hopes she'll get interested in golf.  No luck so far. Instead she rides competitive dressage on her homebred Welsh cross gelding, and enjoys taking him on the trails.

Book preview

FRIDAY’S FOLLY

A Sinclair Island Romance

HILARY WALKER

Friday’s Folly

A Sinclair Island Romance Book 3

By Hilary C.T. Walker

Copyright © 2020 Hilary C.T. Walker

Cover Design: 100covers.com

All Rights Reserved

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * * *

I am still far from being what I want to be, but with God's help I shall succeed. -  Vincent Van Gogh

A Few Illuminating Words

Back in Maryland, my horse Cruz Bay and I went through a terrible phase. He’d reared and dumped me at a major dressage show and it seemed we were not destined to get on.

During that time, I went to see a beautiful little Thoroughbred mare in Pennsylvania and was shocked at the conditions in the racing barn where she lived.

After I got home, I was consumed by the need to get her out of there. The way Camille comes to acquire Friday’s Folly is identical to the logic I used to persuade the bay mare’s owner to let me take her away.

(You can read the full account in the short story How Not to Rescue a Racehorse.)

I took her to Kimberly Godwin Clark’s farm near me. She is the lady who wrote the brilliant book New Track, New Life, that Camille uses as her guide when retraining Friday’s Folly. I knew she’d do a fantastic job with the mare, whom she renamed Class, and she didn’t disappoint. I later received a wonderful email from her new owner saying how thrilled she was with her new horse. A happy ending for the ex-racer.

In the meantime, I realized that Cruz Bay and I are meant for each other, and we’re still together as he turns twenty this year. 😊

Shedding Light on Other Incidents

Without giving anything away, let me just say that Pilot in Chapter Eight goes through the same issue as my husband’s dog, Tuffy. I therefore know of what I write!

Camille’s incident with the horse trailer in Chapter Nine is another instance of autobiographical writing: Cruz did exactly the same thing to me as Friday’s Folly does to her. Trust me, it can and did happen.

Horse purists will fault me for placing the horse on the right side of the trailer instead of the left, as conventional wisdom dictates. But I prefer Cruz to travel on the side where he’ll get the least amount of traffic roaring past him at close quarters. To date, this has worked well for us.

Camille mentions Daily Calm. It is a natural ginseng supplement available at Springtimeinc.com and I highly recommend it for nervous horses. Its only drawback is that it’s illegal for recognized competitions.

The story of how Emma and Fulton meet is narrated in Saving Prophecy, Book 1 of the Sinclair Island Romances.

The bitter sweet romance between Dinny and Grant as mentioned in Chapter Thirteen is told in Dinny’s Challenge, Book 2 of the Sinclair Island Romances.

I thoroughly enjoyed writing Friday’s Folly, Book 3 of the romance series, and hope that you have equal fun reading it!

God bless,

Hilary Walker

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If you don’t like it, please contact me and let me know why. It will help me improve future books!

CONTENTS

A Few Illuminating Words

Chapter One: Diamond Hill

Chapter Two: Max Temples

Chapter Three: The New Horse

Chapter Four: Turn Out

Chapter Five: Friday’s Folly & Winston

Chapter Six: A Discovery

Chapter Seven: The Nook & the Pearls

Chapter Eight: Pirouettes & Pilot

Chapter Nine: A Blip in the Training

Chapter Ten: The Real Training Begins

Chapter Eleven: Progress Continues

Chapter Twelve: Meeting the Others

Chapter Thirteen: Vet Clinic & Riding Clinic

Chapter Fourteen: Prayers & Plans

Chapter Fifteen: The Sightings

Chapter Sixteen: Hope & Discussions

Chapter Seventeen: Pitching the Tent

Chapter Eighteen: The Night Watch

Chapter Nineteen: Truth & Flowers

Chapter Twenty: The Breakthrough

Chapter Twenty-One: Valentine’s Day

Chapter Twenty-Two: Valentine’s Day Continued

Chapter Twenty-Three: It’s Still Valentine’s Day

Chapter Twenty-Four: Morning at the Barn

Chapter Twenty-Five: Telling Dr. Hartford

Chapter Twenty-Six: Dinner with Max

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Surprise Visit

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Dinner & Misconstrued Moves

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Folly’s Clinic

Chapter Thirty: Max & Dr. Hartford

Chapter Thirty-One: Explanations

Chapter Thirty-Two: Calling a Spade a Spade

Chapter Thirty-Three: On the Beach

Chapter Thirty-Four: Dating Conflict

Chapter Thirty-Five: Dating Resolution

Chapter Thirty-Six:  Needed at the Barn

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Aboard Princess Peggy Again

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Still on Board

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Fessing Up

Chapter Forty: Fly in the Ointment

Chapter Forty-One: Rustlers

Chapter Forty-Two: Roberta

Chapter Forty-Three: Dr. Hartford

Chapter Forty-Four: Cuddie Island

Chapter Forty-Five: Diamond Hill

Chapter Forty-Six: A Phone Call & Birdsong

Chapter Forty-Seven: The Clinic

Chapter Forty-Eight: The Pearl of Great Value

Bibliography

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Discover Other Books by Hilary Walker

Connect with Me

Chapter One: Diamond Hill

Friday, January 1st

Camille was too excited to stay indoors.

Her new Thoroughbred was arriving tomorrow and she needed to walk off the nervous anticipation.

Quickly braiding her long black hair to keep it under control, she donned a white down jacket against the cool afternoon temperature, and walked across her back patio and lawn. She pushed aside the tall Indian grass on the edge of her property, and picked up the trail leading to the top of Diamond Hill.

The massive Sinclair Island landmark rose high behind her house. The receptionist at the veterinarian practice, where Camille worked as a vet tech, had nagged her almost daily about hiking up its slopes.

After a month living on the island, today presented the perfect opportunity. Being New Year’s Day, she had the time off work and her pent-up energy would fuel her climb to the peak. From there, allegedly, she could admire the whole of the island.

The path wound up the slope between larches, firs and pines, oak trees dripping with Spanish moss, and every conceivable variety of palm tree.

The gradient was gentle at first and she expected to reach the pinnacle with ease. But soon the incline steepened and she was annoyed at being out of breath. Her beloved mare, Roxie had passed away only four months ago, and Camille was already out of shape from lack of riding.

To take her mind off the difficulty of the ascent, she thought about her new Thoroughbred.

Her grief over Roxie’s death was still fresh and she hadn’t meant to get another horse so soon. She’d only been browsing the ex-racehorse sale sites for fun, as the asking prices nicely fit her meager budget.

But then she saw a stunning palomino by the name of Friday’s Folly.

The gelding was going for a song, and she wondered what the catch must be. If he was as sound as they said, why was he so cheap?

She drove to his Pennsylvania racing yard while visiting her parents in Maryland over Christmas, telling herself it was simply to catch a break from the intensity of family life during those few hectic days.

It was snowing hard by the time Camille reached her sprawling destination: a depressing compound of shed-rows with corrugated iron roofs, enclosed by high barbed wire fencing. Strung along the top were an extra four strands of wire, adorned with super-sized barbs.

The guard was expecting her and gave her a pass. She drove through the open gate and along the rutted lane running between the prison-like buildings, hoping her older model RAV4 wouldn’t get stuck in the mud.

She passed skinny horses shivering in the cold as they were hosed down after their morning gallops.

They were so young!

Camille forced herself to focus until she found Shed W16. She reversed into a small space, ready for a quick getaway from this sad place, and already hoping she wouldn’t like the horse she’d come to see.

Before stepping out of her warm vehicle, she pulled on a thick barn jacket and gloves. But the icy cold still hit her hard when she opened the driver’s door.

I can’t wait to get out of here!

The shed row was a far cry from the comfort of Sinclair Stables, where she intended to bring the new horse. Small dingy inside stalls occupied the four walls of the building, with several feet of tin roof overhang.

Two more stable rows ran back-to-back down the center of the shed. Wheelbarrows and pitch forks cluttered the aisles, and tack in various states of disrepair hung on pegs. The place was freezing, and Camille hoped the horses were wearing blankets.

A tired looking woman of indeterminate age came out of nowhere and accosted her in the aisle. Can I help you? she asked belligerently.

Camille extended her hand. I hope so. I’ve come to see Friday’s Folly.

You must be Ms. Lewis. I’m Helen Webster, barn manager. Her handshake was lifeless.

Hello, Helen. It’s pretty cold today, isn’t it?

Today and every day, she replied dully. Follow me.

Camille’s one comfort was seeing that the horses she passed wore coverings, but they were old and didn’t fit properly.

The whole setup reeked of hand-to-mouth living.

Helen stopped by a corner stall and pointed to the horse inside. That’s Folly.

Are you sure?  Camille was shocked. He didn’t look at all like the online photo of a shiny palomino in the peak of health.

The animal’s face was firmly stuck in the far corner of the stall. It was clear he didn’t want anything to do with anyone.

Bereft of a blanket, he was trembling with cold and his stark winter coat did nothing to hide the thin ribs or extensive rain rot on his rump.

His stable had no insulation, and the two outside walls were exposed to the elements.

Don’t believe me, check his tattoo, Helen said tersely.

Why doesn’t he have a blanket?

We took it off so you could get a good look at him.

Camille called her bluff. I’ve seen enough. Would you mind putting his blanket back on, please?

Don’t you want to get on him?

Camille knew the woman was stalling. Sure, but first I want to groom him, with a blanket covering his back.

His grooming kit and blanket are in the tack room and it’s locked.

Yet his tack is out? Camille couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

Yeah, we knew you were coming so her owner left it out for you, said Helen, as if she were doing her a favor.

With a sigh, Camille opened the stall door and walked around to the horse’s head. Why is he wearing a halter?

He keeps trying to escape, so we have to keep one on him.

I don’t blame him! Camille thought, noticing Helen quickly close the half-door behind her.

She reached under her thick coat and pulled a treat from her jeans pocket. The horse showed immediate interest.

What you giving him? Helen demanded to know.

Just a piece of carrot.

I guess it’s O.K., came the begrudging response.

Camille placed the orange chunk on her flattened palm and offered it to the gelding.

With her other hand she stroked the sad animal’s forehead. Like the rest of his body, it had not been groomed for weeks, and she longed to take a brush through his tangled mane. Under the messy forelock ran the long blaze from his photo. This was indeed Friday’s Folly, fallen on hard times.

Well, said Helen, you getting on him or what?

It sounded like a dare. Yes, Camille said stoutly.

The barn manager entered the stall and put a chain over the horse’s nose to lead him out.

Standing square in front of her, Friday’s Folly was definitely smaller than his advertised 16 hands.

He was well put together, with that typical Thoroughbred dip in front of the withers. His blond body was filled out slightly better than the thin horses she’d driven past. Which made sense after Helen told her the gelding was still on twelve percent protein feed, even though he wasn’t racing anymore.

His intelligent eye looked kind, set in a sculptured head which suggested an aristocratic pedigree. His legs were clean, with no markings.

But he was missing a hind shoe. When Camille pointed this out, Helen explained that the owner was paying reduced board on the horse. As a result, he wasn’t being groomed any more (hence the rain rot) or getting shod. And yet she saw no problem at all with riding him.

With serious misgivings, Camille allowed Friday’s Folly to be trotted up on the accumulating snow outside the barn. It was hard to stand by and watch the chain on the end of the leather lead rope be inserted under his lip and across his upper gum.

Helen saw her horrified expression. He probably won’t misbehave, but we have to be careful.

With so many horses crowded into such a small area, Camille had to agree it made sense.

Friday’s Folly trotted up perfectly sound. It wasn’t much to go on, but at least he passed that test.

Next, a tiny piece of leather-covered felt—a racing exercise saddle—was placed on his back.

A bridle was put on him and the halter thrown over it. The lead rope chain was placed across his nose while Camille adjusted the stirrup leathers from their two-inch racing shortness down to a dressage length. Next, she got on the palomino from an upturned muck bucket right where he was standing in the aisle. She had never before mounted a horse underneath a roof.

She felt nervous as she was led along under that sloping metal overhang. Friday’s Folly was eager to get going, and Camille was glad Helen was holding him.

But she wanted to get off. This was not her idea of riding at all and she was completely out of her comfort zone. Where was the manicured and fenced-in riding arena?

The barn manager made her stay on Friday’s Folly while they turned around and came back to the horse’s stall.

With relief Camille dismounted, having learned absolutely nothing about how the horse was to ride.

Helen explained that the morning routine involved hoisting the jockeys aboard their mounts in the aisle and leading them under the roof toward the training track. This was why Friday’s Folly was so ready to move faster.

Camille took off his tack and led him into that dark stall, wishing again that she could groom him. When she started to close his door, leaving the dejected gelding without a halter, Helen stopped her. Nope. He’s already escaped twice. He needs to wear a halter with his name on it in case he gets away again.

Camille wanted to draw attention to the fact that his halter had another horse’s name on it, but knew it would be useless. 

So, said the laconic Helen, you interested in him?

I might be, if you let me put a blanket on him.

I told you, it’s locked in the tack room.

Yeah, I bet it is. Look, I have one in my vehicle. Let me put in on him, then give me a couple of days to get back to you.

Over the next two days, Camille was at her parents’ house pretending to be caught up in the spirit of Christmas. But the palomino’s miserable living conditions ate at her non-stop.

On Boxing Day, she went into her bedroom, away from prying ears, and called Helen. If you persuade the owner to let me have him for nothing, I can give his horse a home. Tell him that in ten days from now he’ll already have paid more in boarding fees than his asking price.

Camille fervently hoped her argument would encourage the owner to cut his losses and let the horse go. The gelding was already priced low because the barn needed the stall space.

Now she had to wait.

Two days later, Helen called to say the owner had agreed to give him away.

Camille was over the moon.

And tomorrow Friday’s Folly would be right here, with her, on this island.

She’d reached the top of the hill and stood alone in the middle of nature. A rustic bench afforded a much-needed rest and she sat for a few minutes to enjoy the breathtaking vista.

It was like looking at a model seaside village.

A few small boats were sailing back and forth in the little harbor at the northern corner of the diamond-shaped island.

Quayside, passengers and vehicles were boarding The Diamond Packet, the ferry that had brought Camille over from Hilton Head Island.

Following the shoreline, in both directions from the embarkation point, extended a row of one-story businesses.

Running south-east were The Coastal Café, Turnbull’s General Store, the fire station and the library. Two miles farther down the road, bordering the sandy shores of the intercoastal waterway, were the Diamond Bay Condos and the Golf Club.

To the south-west, next to the bank and the hairdresser, Camille could see the Hartford Veterinary Clinic, where she worked.

Beyond them stretched the open coastline. Its wide expanse of reeds gave way to the long beach and smooth waters of Sinclair Sound.

The scene was idyllic, just as she had been promised. A huge sigh of contentment welled up in her. Life could get no better than this!

It was time to descend the hill before the afternoon light turned into early winter dusk.

As she set off, a large black horse appeared around a corner in the path and shied violently at her unexpected white jacket.

Its rider tumbled off and hit the ground hard, yelling "Jesus Christ!"

Camille grimaced at the blasphemy. Blessed be His Name, she prayed quickly.

She had a decision to make; help the man or go after his horse?

His scowl at her from the ground made the choice easy.

Tend to the horse.

The rider needed to simmer down.

Chapter Two: Max Temples

Friday, January 1st

Camille ran after the fleeing gelding, but he soon stopped to graze on the coarse grass by the trail.

Halting a few feet away, she let him eat for a while. His broken reins were dangling on the ground by his head; if he trod on one and raised his head, he’d damage his mouth.

Talking soothingly, she approached his left shoulder where he could see her, and squatted to pull up a tuft of grass. She stayed low and offered it to him, hoping he’d keep his head down and allow her to pick up the nearest rein.

His left eye was watching her warily.

She remained in position. Hi there, buddy, I’m sorry to have startled you.

This time, as she stretched her hand farther towards him, he moved his nose in her direction.

Please don’t move a hoof! she prayed.

As the horse’s lips touched the grass in her palm, she reached for the broken rein.

She let him finish eating, then stood up in a smooth movement, holding the leather. The right rein was dangling on his other side, and she grasped it.

The horse didn’t seem bothered.

You’re a beautiful boy, she told him, tying the two ends of leather into a knot.

He let her lead him along the path back to his rider, who sat doubled over on the bench. Camille guessed he was winded and hoped he hadn’t suffered any physical injury.

He looked up and watched Camille and his horse. Under any other circumstances, she’d have been pleased to meet this handsome man, who appeared slightly older than her twenty-eight years. But not today. His brown eyes were glowering slits and his mouth was a thin angry line.

I’m afraid he broke his reins. She showed him the knot, adding, He’s a gorgeous horse, hoping to placate him.

But he looked ready to kill her. Don’t think flattery will make up for this. He lowered his head and paused to catch his breath before looking up at her again. He’s a very valuable horse and you nearly got us both injured!

Camille bristled at this accusation. "I’m sorry you fell off, but I don’t see that it’s my fault."

I beg to differ. He looked daggers at her. Help me get on, so I can ride back.

There are nicer ways to ask, she thought. Are you sure that’s a good idea?

What other brilliant suggestion do you have? He jeered. Can’t you see I’m in no fit state to lead him?

Patience, Camille told herself, the guy’s in pain. "How about letting me lead him after you get back on?"

He seemed to think about this for a moment, but she could tell his pride wasn’t enjoying the idea. How much experience do you have around horses? he asked, suspiciously.

Plenty, she replied robustly. I had my own horse for ten years. She died a few months ago.

What did she die of? Fright?

The insensitive comment