Some women might take offense at being compared favorably to a horse -- take Paige, Grace's uptight sister, for example. She'd pinch her lips and walk away. Grace, though. She thinks it's better than half the shit she hears at Louie's from the lonely heart's club, looking to score.

It lights her up inside, puts an added dose of bright affection in the words she croons to 'Boomer,' makes her moves fluid as she tacks up, almost like it's a dance.

"Heard of her," Grace answers, catching her lip with her teeth when her knee comes up to nudge the mare's belly, forcing her to exhale so Grace can tighten the girth. "One of the barmen, right? Older lady?"

She pauses a moment to slip the bit in the mare's mouth, persuading her with more softy whispered promises of fresh grass and a good gallop. "By choice? Your friend who doesn't come back."