Leaping Hearts (5 page)

When the man was sufficiently recovered, he switched back to English. “This horse will never be a champion. He has the manners of a common donkey and I wouldn’t expect him to perform over fences any more than I would hold my breath to see him walk upright. He is stupid and so are you for paying more than a dime for him.”

The word was pronounced
stoo-peed.

In an indignant huff, Philippe marched off, still trying to clean off his suit.

Turning to the stallion, A.J. shot Sabbath a dry look.

“That wasn’t very nice. Although I have to say, we’ve all wanted to knock him off that pedestal at one time or another.”

I
T WAS
getting dark by the time A.J. gathered Sabbath’s meager things from his former stable. Her conversation with the stallion’s latest owner had been brief, as if he was afraid she’d change her mind, and the man handed over the registry papers like he was getting rid of a lit stick of dynamite.

The last thing she had to do before leaving was settle the balance due with the auction house’s office. As she walked through the crowd, her stepbrother’s words drifted back to her. Hearing him refer to Sutherland Stables as
his
made her stop to think. She’d always been so busy training and competing that she’d never given the business end of Sutherland’s much thought.

Aside from the horses she trained on, the Sutherland compound housed some fifty other jumpers, which were boarded by their riders or trainers. Thanks to the hefty fees they paid, every conceivable training resource was available, including a pool for the horses to work out in. They also had a wide number of arenas, trails and jumping courses as well as multiple paddocks and lunging rings. It was a big business that brought in a lot of money.

It hadn’t started out that way. When A.J.’s mother and father moved into their estate as newlyweds, Garrett had built a barn and a ring for his beloved wife’s horses. A.J.’s fondest memories of her mother were of the two of them together working with the animals, and after her mother
died, she’d become even more attached to riding. As her skills and interest grew, so did the compound, and A.J. knew her father had gotten a special pleasure out of watching both thrive. She’d certainly enjoyed seeing the new buildings rise up and having new faces come and join what became for her an extended family. In her heart, Sutherland’s was more than a business; it was her mother’s legacy as well as a community where A.J. felt accepted. The place was more home than the mansion she lived in.

Her stepbrother had a different take on it. Peter had become involved on the business end of things after college because his mother demanded that he make himself useful while he tried to become an actor. Figuring he’d be away a lot on callbacks, and would soon be a Hollywood star, he’d agreed to take on managing the books and quickly displayed a knack for finances. Unfortunately, his fiscal successes didn’t impress him and he viewed time at the stables as a reminder of theatrical failure. After many years of auditioning, it appeared as if that one toothpaste commercial might be the national nadir of his acting career.

Though they fought about money, and just about everything else, A.J. had to admit Peter was good at managing the place. He had a flair for numbers even if his people skills were deplorable, and she knew Sutherland’s wouldn’t be the success it was without him. Sadly, though, he hated going to the stables and made sure everyone knew it. He didn’t like the way the place smelled and the way hay and horse hair clung to his clothes. He hated the mud in the springtime, the bugs in the summer and the cold in the fall and winter. And no matter what the season was, he detested his office. Originally, the room had been a grain storage area and it still smelled like old sweet feed when it rained, no matter how many times he shampooed the rug he’d installed.

The only thing he did like was making money, and he liked for it to accumulate in accounts. Every time A.J. wanted to buy something for the stables, she had to go like a beggar and throw herself at him. She hated the begging. To her, money was all about utility. It gave people the ability to pursue their dreams, and her dreams were expensive.
Where money came from had never been of interest to A.J. She was always too busy picking out hooves, carting around bales of hay and bags of grain and giving worm shots. Wasting a moment to worry about how much she was spending on something she needed or waiting to see if a better price came along struck her as pointless.

Courtesy of the two different philosophies coexisting in the same business, there’d been a lot of battles, and the fights didn’t stay at the compound. With both living at home, whatever blowup had occurred at the stables followed Peter and her up the hill to the mansion and was served with dinner. Regina would take Peter’s side, and A.J.’s father, who got gassy in the face of conflict of any kind, would plead for everyone to keep a cool head and a quiet tongue.

Garrett took a lot of antacids.

With her and her stepbrother in their midtwenties, A.J. knew it was high time they moved out but she was too busy training to go look for a place of her own and she knew Peter thrived on all the amenities available to him at the mansion. She also suspected he’d need to be surgically removed from his mother’s influence. Regina Conrad, now Sutherland, was a domineering woman with an insatiable need for approval. As a consequence, she had a burning desire to prove that everything about her and her son was superlative. To A.J.’s mind, the constant barrage of propaganda was hard to be around and she didn’t know how Peter could stand being the subject of so much hot air.

The consolation prize, she guessed, was one hell of a mother fixation.

To her, the pair seemed like expensive pieces of matching baggage but Garrett appeared content. His happiness was the reason she kept trying to make things work with her stepbrother and Regina. It wasn’t easy.

Coming to the auction office, A.J. opened a door, which creaked in the friendly way farm doors do, and stepped inside. Margaret Mead, an Irish widow of sixty, looked up from behind the counter and smiled. The two had known each other for years.

“Ah now, A.J., you should be lookin’ happier this day.”

“You must not have heard what I’ve volunteered for.”

“I’ve heard, all right.”

“So are you going to jump on the bandwagon and tell me I’m crazy, too?” A.J. put her knapsack on the counter and leaned across it.

“Is that what they been sayin’ to you?”

A.J.’s look was dry.

“Just ignore them,” Margaret said as she brought out a folder. “You followed your instincts on that horse. People only get into serious trouble when they think the pitch of other voices is more true than their own. The stallion is yours now and the slate is clean. You start fresh with him.”

Margaret passed some paperwork across the counter and retrieved a pen out of a coffee mug full of various and sundry writing utensils. A.J. reviewed the documents, picked up the Bic and was about to scrawl her name on the bottom when she looked at the top of the charge slip. It read
Sutherland Stables, c/o Peter Conrad.

On impulse, she ripped it up.

“I’m going to write a personal check instead,” A.J. said, taking out her wallet.

She wasn’t sure what she was doing but the decision came out of the same place that made her bid on the stallion. Postdating the check, so she could get enough money in the account before it cleared, she choked as she filled in all the zeros. It was a monstrous stretch of her savings but instinct told her it was better to make the investment than have any chance of Peter refusing payment while they fought over her right to buy the horse.

As she ripped her check free and handed it to Margaret, she wondered if she’d lost her mind. Over the years, she’d managed to save up a nest egg from excess money her father had given her. It was a symbol of independence she’d never seen fit to use before, and now she was wiping it out.

Maybe Peter had a point about financial prudence, she thought, getting a sense for the first time of how finite money could be. She found it hard to believe that she’d just sunk all her net worth into a four-legged, maladjusted frat boy with hooves.

Margaret took the check. “Don’t look so worried. The pit
you feel in your belly’s just buyer’s remorse. A couple of deep breaths will get you through it—they will.”

A.J. tried to swallow her shock. There’d always been money around and there’d be more of it, she told herself. And, if Sabbath turned out to be a champion, she could probably sell some of her interest in him to the stables and recoup the cash while still having him as her horse.

By the time she returned to Sabbath’s stall, she was feeling a little better. The fact that the stallion seemed happy to see her helped. As soon as he caught her scent, he nickered and reached forward, letting her stroke the velvet of his muzzle.

“Well, it’s legal now. We’re in this together,” she told him. “So whaddya say, you want to blow this Popsicle stand?”

It took her a half hour to get him ready to travel the hundred miles back to Sutherland Stables. She wrapped his legs, put a blanket across his sleek back and then went outside and brought around the eighteen-wheeler that was one of Sutherland’s fleet of horse trailers. When she led the stallion onto the ramp, she was vigilant in case he decided to bolt, but he didn’t seem interested in acting up.

When there’s no stage, there’s no performance, she thought, as she loaded him into one of the tight stalls. Satisfied the stallion was safe, she shut the rear doors and climbed into the cab, starting the mammoth diesel engine with the twist of a tiny key. As she left the grounds, she found herself thrilled by all the possibilities ahead of them.

While the highway miles passed and night started to fall, her mind drifted back to Devlin McCloud. She could recall the gravel sound of his voice, the way his handsome face had looked up close, every flash of those hazel eyes. Her body responded as if he were sitting beside her, the images making her feel like she’d been put under a heat lamp.

What was so intoxicating about him? There was something in his confidence and intelligence, in those hooded eyes, in that powerful way he carried himself, that body….

“You can stop now,” she said out loud. “He’s a man, not a fantasy.”

But A.J. let herself dream on. In the netherland between the auction house and the stables, she fantasized about
ways to run into him again. They were hard to conjure up considering his reclusive nature but her favorite, and the only one that was a remote probability, was the daydream where she had a flat tire on the stretch of road, right in front of his driveway. He would come by with the truck; they would talk as he loosened lug nuts, maybe agree to have dinner. And a movie. Then he’d take her home and kiss her in the dark….

Of course, it was all a complete and utter fabrication. She wasn’t the kind of woman men asked out on dates, and she’d have found it hard to pull off the whole save-me-you-big-man thing. And anyway, Devlin McCloud didn’t strike her as the kind who’d waste time on movies.

So what would he do with a woman, she wondered. Was he a cook-in-and-stay-home type? She didn’t think he’d go for Monster Truck rallies. Formal dining at a five-star restaurant? Picnic on a mountain? Riding through wooded trails with lingering glances passing back and forth? It was the afterward she was especially interested in. How would he be as a lover? Soft and slow or with a raging lust? She thought it probably depended on whom he was with and how much he wanted her.

She frowned, disturbed by her train of thought. Her preoccupations typically ran toward the practical, not the romantic. And certainly not the erotic. She was more accustomed to getting lost in dreams of finding the perfect blacksmith or a vet that would come cheerfully to a cold stable at two a.m. Then again, she’d never met anyone like him before and she couldn’t decide whether she was dying to see him or grateful that she wasn’t likely to. He’d had a profound effect on her and, as thrilling as it had been to be in his orbit, she felt like she was on dangerous footing.

The reality check, and the fact that she’d arrived at Sutherland’s, made her think of the stallion. As she pulled between the majestic white pillars that marked the drive to the stables’ compound, she wondered how Sabbath was going to like his new home.

As it turned out, his hooves didn’t even get a chance to touch the ground.

When she halted the eighteen-wheeler in front of the
clapboard expanse of a stable building, Peter and her father emerged from the office. Their expressions told her she was in for it. Peter was looking serious and her father wore the pained grimace he always did when he was going to deny her something.

Without stopping to greet them, A.J. got down from the cab and wrenched open the side door to the trailer so she could check on the stallion. They followed her inside.

“That horse has got to go,” Peter said. “Your father agrees with me.”

“Arlington, darling,” Garrett urged, “please be sensible.”

A.J. let out an exasperated breath. “Look, I don’t have the time to argue with both of you. My first priority is getting this poor horse out of the shoe box he’s been in for the last hour and a half.”

“You’re not bringing that stallion into the stables,” Peter said.

“Doesn’t look like you have much choice, does it?”

“You’re the one who’s out of choices. I’ve found a buyer for him.”

“What!” She wheeled around. “You’ve no right to sell any of our horses without my permission!”

“Tell her, Garrett.”

“Tell me what?” Fingers, shaking from anger, sought out her diamond.

“Well, dear, I—”

“There’s been a little change in paperwork,” Peter said. “Courtesy of your stunt, I’m now president of the corporation that owns Sutherland Stables.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“Now I can run the business freely without worrying about your spending habits. I’ve got veto power. I can streamline operations, maybe even diversify. And I can send this demon as far away from here as I want.”