Sarah's room looked like no one lived in it, the kind of tidy neatness that made me second guess my own life choices when it came to the clutter that was my closet. I sighed while I stood back and stared at the rather OCD organization of color coded breeches, golf shirts, white shirts, black jackets and polished tall boots that filled one end, the bare selection of street clothes on the shelf and hanging sadly on the other side evidence the young rider did little that wasn't to ...