Leaping Hearts (16 page)

A.J. could feel the looks of the crowd as they walked by, their eyes measuring the horse with undisguised curiosity and then looking her over with a similar expression. She wanted to believe they were arrested by the sight of him and wishing her well, but she knew better and did her best to meet the stares calmly. She might be anxious about what was going to happen in the ring but she was going to do her damnedest not to show it.

When she was satisfied that the stallion was under some control, she decided to take a look at the ring. “I’m going to walk the course. Want anything?”

“I don’t think they’re sellin’ what I need,” Chester said as the stallion threw his head again. “An anchor to hang off this one’s forehead would be great. Last longer than m’ arm, too.”

“I think we’re out of luck on marine supplies but maybe I can scare up some other kind of deadweight.”

Would give me a use for Peter, if I run into him, she thought with humor.

Heading to the show ring, she wanted to find Devlin, get close to the billboard to check the order of riders, and study
the jump course. Already, competitors and trainers were crowded around the board so she had to stand on the tips of her toes to see over all the heads. She was arching forward when she felt someone put an arm around her waist.

“And so you are back with the bronco.”

The French accent cut through her nerves like a chain saw. She turned to face Philippe Marceau and took a step away at the same time.

“Ah, but how the morning light suits you.” His wide, placating smile showed a lot of dental work.

She acknowledged him with a reserved nod and found it amazing how something so melodious as that accent could be so grating coming out of his mouth. Was it all the caps on his teeth?

“I see you come after me in order,” he was saying while striking a pose. His riding clothes were conventional and top quality but he was wearing a pair of extreme wraparound sunglasses. “You are a woman of great courage to bring that beast into the ring. But then, I hear you have help,
non
?”

“I have a trainer,” she confirmed while searching for an escape route.

Standing close to this man is like being stuck in an elevator, she decided. You’d bargain with God to get free.

“But not just any trainer. Not only does this woman tackle a stallion no one else can seem to tame but she resurrects the dead,
n’est-ce pas
? You have done wonders to stir McCloud’s blood again, or so I have heard.”

A.J.’s mouth dropped open at the insinuation. “What are you talking about?”

“Surely you jest. The news is all around.” He gesticulated with a limp wrist. “Although I must say, you are faithless to leave your family in favor of a man who is not your husband. No matter how good you find his
services.
”

Her vision narrowed on the man’s jugular. “Why, you little—”

Devlin appeared at her side. “A.J.! Time to go pace off the course.”

“Ah,” Philippe said grandly. “And here is your good teacher, the man you gave up so much for. Myself, I could
not imagine leaving my family for someone else’s stable, but I am French and we are known for our loyalty. Then again, I also don’t need the particular kind of
instruction
this McCloud offers.”

A.J. could sense her face turning brick red and felt like a boxer winding up for a punch.

“Come on,” Devlin said.

“Yes, run along, you two. I imagine there is much you must do to each other.”

That did it. She lost it.

“Why, you tar-mouthed gossip hound—”

She was itching to go further but Devlin put a firm hand on her arm and began to lead her away.

“And speaking of gossip,” the Frenchman called out as they left, “you would do well to keep your ear to the floor. I myself am going to make an announcement soon.”

“That’s ‘ear to the ground,’ you—”

“Enough,” Devlin hissed, dragging her off.

When they were out of range from the crowd, A.J. whirled on him, eyes flashing turquoise.

“How could you let him go on like that? You didn’t give me the chance to defend us!”

Devlin said nothing, which infuriated her further. He just stood there, staring at her calmly. Didn’t he have any pride?

“I mean, come on! Marceau made insinuations that were insane and you hauled me off before I could respond.”

When that didn’t get any reaction, she frowned.

“Hello?”

“You finished?” he asked. “Or do you want to give him more of what he’s after?”

A.J. looked confused.

He said, “Tell me what you’re thinking about right now.”

“How I’d like to crown him with a bag of feed.”

“Anything else?”

“How wrong he is about us. How ridiculous it is for that man to talk about loyalty after he’s dated so many women simultaneously, his bed needs a waiting room.”

“Good. Now tell me why we’re here.”

She looked at him like he’d gone daft. “To compete.”

“Right. And you’re blowing all your energy and concentration
on Philippe Marceau about thirty minutes before you have to go into the ring.”

“But the things he said—”

“Were exactly what he knew would get you rattled.”

She shook her head. “But why would he bother?”

“Because he sees you’re becoming a threat.”

“I doubt that. Sabbath is worse than an unknown and I’m not the seasoned competitor Marceau is. He doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

“You’re closing in on him faster than you think. As rough as he is, Sabbath could eat up the ground under any of Marceau’s mounts and you have more natural talent than he could ever hope to train for.”

“I can’t believe he’s threatened by me. That performance is just his personality, not strategy.”

“Don’t bet on it. He’s got great instincts when it comes to human nature and he uses them to his advantage. Always.”

A.J. opened her mouth but he cut her off.

“You’ve been in some competitions but you obviously haven’t had enough experience with the kind of head games people like Marceau play. As you rise up through the ranks, you better get ready for it. Competition has a way of souring people and, in Marceau’s case, he was pretty damn close to rotten before he started.”

A.J. thought about it and began to see Devlin’s point. She saw how she’d played into Marceau’s hands and started to feel like a fool.

Watching her deflate, Devlin couldn’t stop himself from reaching up and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It was the first time he’d touched her since the night they’d kissed. His hand lingered on her cheek.

“The best technical rider doesn’t always win,” he said gently. “And Marceau’s star has risen a lot higher because of it. He’s great at unsettling competitors. I’ve seen him do it before.”

She heaved a sigh. “How could I be so gullible?”

“Look, you should take it as a compliment. The man never wastes time on riders he’s sure he can beat.”

A.J. stayed silent for a moment and then he watched as
she pulled herself together, those arresting eyes of hers relighting with purpose.

“Well,” she said sharply, “the man’s getting no more from me. Let’s walk that course.”

“Hey,” he said.

She looked at him.

“I’m proud of you.”

She flushed and a slow smile spread over her features. It was like watching the sunrise over his mountains at home, he thought. Beautiful, glowing, magical.

“Thanks,” she said, and then started back for the crowd around the billboard.

“Don’t worry about going into the fray,” he said, stopping her. “I’ve already sketched out the course and you’re going second to last in a field of fifteen.”

“That’s great.”

Together, they bent over his clipboard and analyzed the course order. There were eleven fences, with two combinations. Mercifully, Devlin’s prediction that there wouldn’t be a water obstacle was correct. After A.J. was familiar with the layout, they went inside the ring and walked the course, pacing off the distances between the jumps. Taking three-foot steps, they counted four as one of Sabbath’s strides. Other competitors and trainers were doing the same and the lot of them looked like a platoon of confused soldiers, high-stepping in different directions.

After they’d walked the course once, Devlin coached her on how to handle the turns.

“The first three jumps are straightforward. Going into the turn that follows, get him into a lead change as soon as you can before heading over to the first combination of uprights. Six is going to be the first real test. It’s a tight crank and he’s going to fight you for his head. Seven and eight are relatively easy but then comes the cruncher. He’s going to get barreling fast during that straight shot before the turn into nine and ten. You’re going to have to hold him as best you can so you don’t go cockeyed into the corner and miss that last combination of oxers. Get through them and you’re home free with the wall at eleven.”

A.J. nodded and asked him some specific questions
about where she needed to take jumps at an angle in order to get the stallion into the best position to handle the turns. She knew that her late start position was going to be an advantage. She could watch the first couple of jumpers and see where they were having problems. Typically, courses had one or two fences that the competitors tended to fault on, and discovering where those were was important information. Sometimes, it was surprising where the problems came up.

The goal in competition was a “clean round,” which meant the horse and rider made it over all of the fences without knocking down a rail. A point system, made up of “faults,” measured any deviation from a clean round. If a rail was knocked down, it would mean four faults for the rider, and there were other transgressions such as a horse refusing a jump or failing to cross the start or finish line. There was also a time limit on the course, and if a rider’s time came in above it, they would be disqualified.

After all the competitors finished the first round, if there was only one clean round or only one rider with the lowest number of faults, that competitor would win and the others would place accordingly. If there were multiple clean rounds or lowest number of faults, there would be a jump off, a timed round over a half dozen fences. The rider with the fastest timed clean round would then win or, failing any clean round, the rider with the lowest number of faults would take first place.

A.J. and the competitors all knew the rules by heart. They also knew the standards were the only predictable thing in an event. There was no way of knowing what would happen when someone went into the ring. During the two minutes it took for a rider and horse to go through a course, anything and everything could happen. It was this kind of triumph and tragedy that kept them all, competitors and spectators alike, coming back for more.

As she ran the course order through her head again, A.J. was thinking she had no idea how the stallion was going to behave. Well, she knew what the downside could be. Putting Sabbath into a foreign ring and surrounding him with people, some of whom would be moving around while he was
jumping, was asking a lot. It would be visually arresting, a feast for the roving eye, and she knew how easily he lost concentration.

After walking the course one more time, she and Devlin headed back to the competitors’ paddock. By the time they returned to the trailer, Chester had wrapped each of the stallion’s lower legs to prevent injury if he knocked a rail, and had already put A.J.’s saddle on his back.

“We’ve got a good position,” Devlin said as they approached. “How’s he been behaving?”

“I think he’s engaged to that mare over there but I can’t be sure.”

Devlin laughed. “Maybe you’ll get that spring wedding after all.”

“I’m hopin’ for one.”

A.J. shot them both a curious look but the subject was dropped.

Going inside the trailer, she retrieved the bag that held her show clothes. In one of the empty stalls, she tossed aside her barn boots and undressed, feeling chilled by the early-morning air. In a hurry to get warm, she quickly put on a crisp white shirt with a priest’s collar and tucked it into a pair of tan jodhpurs. Fishing around in her bag, she found her good-luck socks. Bright pink, they had pigs with angels’ wings flying in formation and she covered them up by stepping into a pair of highly polished black boots that came up to her knees.

Out of her purse, A.J. retrieved a gold pin, which she affixed at her throat in the front, and then she plaited her hair into a long braid that she twisted tightly into a bun at her neck. Looking around for a mirror, she didn’t find one so she tried to get a sense of what she looked like by using a compact.

Frustrated because she couldn’t see herself, and feeling conflicted because she was wondering what Devlin would think of her outfit when she should have been focusing on the event, A.J. took her blazer from its wooden hanger and put it on with a smooth motion. The tailored black jacket was lined with red silk and had two brass buttons on the front engraved with the Sutherland logo. She tried not to
dwell on the insignia as her fingers did up the blazer. With a crisp tug at the double vents in the back, she was armored in genteel battle gear and she emerged, velvet helmet dangling from one hand, ready to go into the ring.

Devlin’s eyes went dark as he looked up from adjusting Sabbath’s martingale. With all the preparations and chaos of an event day, he hadn’t been thinking about what he was missing but it all came back to him as she stood in the early sunlight, dressed in her show clothes. He knew how she felt, wearing that jacket. The marbles in her stomach, the course order she’d be memorizing like a treasure map, the delicious agony of waiting for her time in the ring. Those were things a competitor never forgot. And even though he was happy for her, he ached for what he’d lost.

“You all set?” he asked as she approached.

A.J. reached out and put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, are you okay?”

Devlin was surprised at her concern, having assumed he’d kept his emotions to himself.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You look like you’re hurting.”

He debated whether or not to brush off her concern. The last thing she needed to be burdened with as she headed into the ring was his problems, but he found it hard to keep things from her. With those piercing blue eyes staring up at him, seeing through him, into his pain, he couldn’t help but respond.