Anderson said, trotting Chestnut down the long lane toward the unfinished alligator pond. “This is one hard-working quarter horse. Did your daddy teach you about horses, too?” Jennifer patted the mare she called Sadie, then shook her head. “No, my mother is the horse expert. Suzanne Myers Rodgers. You might have heard of her, or rather, your parents might remember her. She used to compete in shows on both the state and national levels. She was poised for a shot at the Olympics when she met my daddy.” “And?” “And she fell in love and gave it all up, much to the disgust of her old-money-Texas-born-and-raised parents.” Anderson sat up on his horse. “Myers. As in Houston oil Myers?” “The very ones,” Jennifer replied, galloping along beside him. “My maternal grandparents, although I’ve never met them. They disowned my mother when she left behind college, dressage and the cotillion to marry my father.” Anderson whistled low. “You’re kidding me, right? You don’t even know your own grandparents?”
