A Love Like Ours (6 page)

Since there was little hope he’d glance her way during these monologues, she occasionally watched him out of the corners of her eyes. Everything about him riveted her interest: his voice, the faint mesquite and spice scent that clung to his shirt, his size and leashed power. Most of all, she was fascinated,
utterly fascinated
, by the fact that she could still sense a bond between them. As if by the silken thread of a spiderweb, the two of them were somehow connected.

“This is the last horse of the five you’ll be riding.” Jake crossed to a stall that overlooked the barn’s front yard and the road.

So far, he’d assigned her to two fillies and two colts. Each of the four had been lovely. They possessed excellent conformation, and she’d been able to read their fitness in their musculature. As she caught sight of her final horse, though, her gait stuttered.

He stood tall, at least sixteen hands. His coat gleamed dapple grey, darkening down his legs. His mane and tail fell in unbroken waterfalls of white.

“This is Silver Leaf.” Jake propped a shoulder against the opening that led to the horse’s enclosure.

Silver Leaf swung his head in Lyndie’s direction and regarded her placidly.

Something about the animal, something wordless—an indefinable X factor—caused Lyndie’s arms to pebble with goose bumps.
She had met and ridden many, many good racehorses. Some of them had been stakes winners, even. But this horse . . .

My goodness. She rested her palms on top of the stall’s half-door. This horse had a magical quality about him that called to the dreamer in her and made her heart beat faster. “What’s his story?”

“He’s five years old now.”

A stallion, then. Too old to be called a colt. “Did he begin his racing career at two?” Most horses did.

“He’s a unique situation. He was immature at two.”

“So you started racing him at three?”

“I tried to campaign him at three and at four without success. I pulled him both times.”

Lyndie wrinkled her brow and slanted a look up at Jake.

“He has all the hallmarks I look for in a horse,” he said. “He was born at Whispering Creek, and his breeding represents the best of what Bo and I have been trying to do. He’s sound. His immune system is solid.”

“But?”

“He won’t run.” For a man filled with shadows, Jake’s hazel eyes regarded her with unusual brightness. “During a race, he gallops at the back, and no one can make him go faster than he wants to.”

Lyndie studied Silver Leaf. Barns all across America housed Thoroughbreds that couldn’t or wouldn’t run. Even if a horse had been purchased for hundreds of thousands of dollars, if he or she lacked the ingredient Lyndie thought of as
heart
, then that horse would never achieve glory on the track. A horse had to have the will to win.

“When he was young, Bo and I believed he was full of promise.”

“I can see why.” Silver Leaf ambled over to them and lowered his regal neck just enough so that Lyndie could rest her palm on his forehead. She stayed that way for long moments, joined to the horse through touch.

“By now, I would have retired any other horse who’d run as poorly as he has,” Jake stated.

“Why didn’t you retire him?”

“I wasn’t willing to give up on him after his three-year-old season. There was something about him that appealed to me.”

“What about after his four-year-old season?”

“I’d have retired him if it hadn’t been for Meg.”

Lyndie waited for him to elaborate.

“Meg shares everything she has with Bo,” he said. “But, technically, she owns this whole place. The ranch, the barns, all the horses.”

“I’m guessing she’s a great owner to work for.”

“She is. In all the years I’ve worked for her, she’s only come to me with one request about a horse. She asked me not to give up on Silver Leaf.”

The stallion stepped back a few paces and peered at them as if he knew they were discussing him. “Meg loves Silver Leaf,” Lyndie guessed.

“Yes. Silver Leaf was a yearling when her father died. He was her father’s favorite.”

“I see. So Silver Leaf links Meg to her father.”

Jake nodded.

“But he won’t run.”

“No. Meg stills hopes, or still wants to hope, that he has potential. But it’s my job to be practical.”

Lyndie found herself wanting to hope in Silver Leaf’s potential, too.

“I told Meg,” Jake continued, “that I’d put him back into training and give him two more races. This is his last chance.”

Lyndie’s life with Mollie had cultivated in her a tender heart. She’d always been sensitive to those who were weighed down with difficulty, like Jake. Or who were considered a disappointment, like Silver Leaf. “Oh,” she whispered.

“Oh what?”

“Nothing.” But her
oh
moment had not been nothing. She could see, suddenly, that the trainer and his horse were tied together. If she could improve the outlook for one, she just might be able to improve the outlook for the other. “I’ll do everything I can,” she promised, “for Silver Leaf.”

The horse’s dark eyes measured her.

Jake and Bo were excellent horsemen who’d carved out successful careers for themselves in the world of Thoroughbred racing. If the secret to Silver Leaf’s refusal to run were easy to diagnose, the brothers would have done so. “Once I’ve finished riding for the day, is it okay with you if I hang around and spend some time with Silver Leaf?”

A frown line appeared between his brows. People found her odd at times. She was an artist, after all. “If you want to.”

“I want to.” In order to unlock Silver Leaf’s mystery, she’d need to take a crash course on the statuesque gray stallion. She’d start the best way she knew, with observation.

Silver Leaf behaved as if he had more royal blood coursing through his veins than Prince William himself. The big and beautiful Thoroughbred treated Lyndie the way a king would treat a guest who’d come to call. That is, formally and politely.

When she mounted up in the mornings, he stood completely still, his neck arched in an elegant line. He never danced nervously beneath her or showed signs of skittishness. In fact, when other horses on the track or in the shed row exhibited that sort of behavior, Silver looked down upon them with disdain. He allowed Lyndie to lead him through his exercise regimen with indulgent good humor, as if, could he have spoken, he’d have said,
Certainly, Ms. James. I acquiesce
to gallop.

His behavior would tempt anyone to believe that he possessed the right sort of disposition to handle the excitement of the racetrack. Which only made the oddity of his failure as a racehorse more perplexing.

On Saturday, the final day of her first work week, Lyndie cooled Silver by jogging him around the training track. As usual, Jake stood just inside the rail, arms crossed. A handful of other riders worked their mounts around the oval while she rode. It shouldn’t be, then, that Jake’s gaze never seemed to leave her. Yet, as far as
she could tell, it didn’t leave her. Ever. Every single time Lyndie cut a glance at him while she was riding, for six mornings in a row, his attention had been focused on her. Day after day, horse after horse. She could only guess that he watched her constantly because she was new and he didn’t want her making a mistake with one of his horses.

She peeked at him as she passed by. And yes. There it was again, his attention locked on her. His gaze met hers with the force of a laser.

In response, something hot pinged in her stomach. He slid from view. This type of reaction to Jake had been sneaking up on Lyndie over the past couple of days. The pings and pangs were part physical magnetism, part awareness. Rare and delicious sensations for Lyndie. Also bemusing. It seemed that the girl who was not easily attracted to men had developed a small, uninvited attraction to one particular man.

Tall, Dark, and Brooding? Great choice, Lyndie. He’s your boss. He’s
so solemnly in control of himself that he has no softness left. He doesn’t allow himself vulnerabilities. And nor
, lest you forget, does he seem to like you in any way.

She didn’t know whether to blame the pings and pangs on the fragile connection that remained between the two of them or on the fact that Jake was . . . well . . . gorgeous.

He was. It really couldn’t be disputed. He was gorgeous in a ruthless, commanding, scarred pirate type of way. If you liked that sort of thing.

Her lips curled into a rueful smile. She hadn’t liked that sort of thing in the past. But surprisingly, she wasn’t immune.

How long had it been since she’d experienced a stirring of desire for anyone? Ages. A couple of years at least. It was fun and harmless to . . .
tingle
. . . over someone again. It wasn’t as if Jake was in danger of returning her feelings. Or as if this altered her intentions toward him.

She was determined to help him and his horse. The kind of help she had in mind for Jake had nothing to do with Valentine’s Day emotions and everything to do with God’s power to redeem.

Once she’d finished Silver’s cooldown, she brought the horse to a stop near the track’s rail. Jake held himself with the sort of stillness that might have been identified as contentment in another man. In him, it reverberated with edgy tension. His face looked drawn with tiredness today, his scar stark. He angled a look at her from beneath his Stetson.

“He’s running well.” Lyndie smiled and tucked back a wayward wisp of hair.

“Yes.”

You’re a real chatterbox, aren’t you, Jake?
“What a beautiful morning. I’m loving the sunshine. It’s like California weather.” Crisp and bright.

“That’ll do for today.”

“Okay.” Conversational skills were not Jake’s strong point. She walked Silver in the direction of the barn.

Every chance she got, she’d been trying to engage Jake in simple conversation. He’d not yet been receptive. Apparently, he did not much enjoy communicating with his fellow human beings. Horses, yes. Humans, no.

Silver’s groom, Zoe, waited for them beside the path. Zoe had clothed her lanky six-foot frame in her usual work wardrobe of skinny jeans and a fraternity event T-shirt. Her lime green Hunter rain boots sported floral fleece liners that folded over the tops. With her super long and thin legs and arms, the twenty-two-year-old would never pass for a textbook sort of pretty. As it happened, Zoe possessed something far more winning: immediate likability.

Zoe gave Lyndie her customary salute, took gentle hold of the reins, and guided Silver into the barn. As usual, Zoe had pulled her blazing red hair into a braid that ended mid-back. “Were you trying to talk to Mr. Porter again?”

“Yep.”

Zoe’s eyes danced against her porcelain skin. “I’m impressed.”

“Why don’t
you
talk to him more? You like to chat with people.”

“Sure, I do. But Mr. Porter doesn’t. I answer when he asks me
questions and approach him when I have an issue to discuss. That’s about it. I mean, I’m filled with respect for him and all. But he’s intimidating!”

“Well, I’m going to keep talking to him. It’s good practice for . . . life. Don’t you think?”

“I do think. If I ever work my way up to assistant trainer around here, Mr. Porter will have to put up with a lot more of my talking.” She grinned. “I’m not sure he’d like that. He’ll probably never promote me.”

“He could always send you to his Florida barn. He wouldn’t be able to hear your talking from there.”

Zoe laughed, a young and lighthearted sound.

They’d reached the tack room. Lyndie hopped off and went to work unfastening the saddle while Zoe switched Silver’s reins out for a halter and lead shank. “Mr. Porter wants me to walk him for twenty minutes. Are you going to join me for his bath today?”

“See you there.” Since Monday, Lyndie had spent an extra few hours each day with Silver.

Lyndie finished cleaning the morning’s tack, grabbed a granola bar from the warm room, then met Zoe. The horses’ bathing station had been set up outside a far corner of the barn. A water spigot connected to a wall-mounted hose that looked like a showerhead on a three-foot-long pole. Two buckets held brushes and supplies. The third waited empty, for use during baths.

Lyndie took hold of Silver’s halter and worked on her granola bar. Zoe rubbed the soft oval curry brush into Silver’s back, concentrating on the sweaty area where the saddle had rested.

Zoe was a girl after Lyndie’s own heart. Over the past days, Lyndie had learned that they’d both been horse-crazy youngsters. Both had started volunteering for Thoroughbred trainers as teens. Both had ended up working for Jake.

At the moment, Whispering Creek Horses employed both Zoe and her brother, Zach. The siblings worked in the early mornings and lived at home so that they could afford to take college courses in the afternoons and evenings.

“Did you know that I used to want your job when I was younger?” Zoe asked.

“You did?”

“Yeah. But since I’m not one hundred and fourteen pounds and five four, that didn’t really pan out for me.”

“Exercise riding only panned out for me because my father’s medium-sized and my mom’s tiny.”