Leaping Hearts (32 page)

Devlin, on the other hand, was wide-awake and staring at the ceiling. Before pitching his khakis in with the rest of the dirty clothes, he’d cleaned out the pockets and found the check. He’d been surprised at how large an amount she’d written it for.

What did he expect, he mused. She probably had a trust fund that made Fort Knox look like a piggy bank.

The next morning, though, something was still nagging at him. When Chester and he had a moment alone, he asked the man, “Where did you two go yesterday?”

“The hardware store, an antiques dealer an’ the auction house.”

“Antiques dealer?”

“Yup. An’ the bank.”

“Which one?”

“National Savings an’ Trust.”

“No, which dealer?”

Chester thought for a moment. “The real fancy one on State Street. Got all kinds of silver an’ jewelry in the front window. Looks like you’d have to pass a credit check just to get through the door. Needless to say, I stayed in the truck.”

Devlin frowned.

“What’s the problem, boy? You look like you got a beehive between the ears.”

“It’s nothing. Forget I asked.”

A
WEEK
later, Devlin was calling out commands as A.J. and Sabbath warmed up. Watching from the rail, Chester was impressed.

From train wreck to poetry in motion, he thought. ’Course, ya coulda raised a barn with bare hands for all the work it took.

Moving lithely, the pair was working as one as they went from a bouncing trot into a loping canter. Even to Chester’s expert eye, he couldn’t tell when A.J. was giving direction to the stallion. It was like they were communicating telepathically, and when they started jumping, he was awestruck. All pounding hooves and leaping arches, they charged through the course, making quick work of the mammoth fences. And they did it with an elegant confidence, as if it was no more than a whim.

A new champion’s just entered the sport, Chester thought, and everybody’s gonna know it at the Qualifier.

In the center of the ring, Devlin was thinking the same thing. When they came jogging into the center, he started clapping.

“Congratulations. That was great.”

But A.J. barely responded. Her features were tight, her cheeks pale, and he saw that her hands shook as they held the reins. She was in the same state after every session and he couldn’t understand it. When prompted, her response was always, “I’m fine. It’s just stress. It takes a lot of concentration
to keep Sabbath in line.” Always a plausible denial. Except he wasn’t buying it anymore.

“Chester,” he called out. “Walk out the beast, would you?”

A.J. looked at him in surprise.

“You and I need to talk,” he told her.

“About what?”

“Why you look like you’re going to fall out of the saddle.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Bullshit. You look like hell.”

“Just an off day.”

“It’s like this every time we finish up in the ring.”

“It’s hard work.”

“Not that hard.”

She frowned at him, the pain in her arm and his insight making her defensive. Her voice grew sharp.

“I appreciate the concern but I feel fine. And I don’t need help cooling down my horse.” She called out to Chester, who was coming across the dirt, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of him.”

As the groom shrugged and turned around, Devlin shot her a dark look. “Suit yourself but I’ll see you back at the house. This conversation isn’t over.”

A.J. watched him stalk out of the ring and groaned. The last thing she needed was an in-depth discussion about her stamina. As the stallion fell into a walk at the rail, she let down some of her guard, wincing as she settled her arm across her lap. The pain hadn’t gotten any better and she wasn’t surprised Devlin had noticed her fatigue. Being in constant agony was exhausting.

And the excuses were getting harder to tell every time.

When she finally dismounted, she found herself swallowing another pair of Motrin before she could lead the stallion back to the barn. Feeling wretched, she was closing the ring’s gate and girding herself for the rigors of grooming, when an unfamiliar car came up the drive. Margaret Mead disembarked from the compact, waved to A.J. and smiled when she saw Chester hovering in the background.

Walking over with the stallion, A.J. did her best to cheerfully
greet their visitor while waiting desperately for the painkillers to kick in.

“Good mornin’,” Margaret said.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” A.J. replied, glancing back at Chester, who was standing just inside the stable door. “But I’m glad you did.”

The two women shared a meaningful look.

“Why don’t you come inside and get out of the wind,” A.J. said in a voice loud enough to be overheard. She was hoping to give Chester a moment to collect himself.

In the shadows, the man took advantage of it. He tore off his baseball cap and smoothed down the thin hair on his head. As Margaret approached, he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a nervous metronome.

“Did you find out anything?” A.J. asked as they halted the stallion at the crossties. He craned his head forward, snuffling over Margaret.

“Aye, I did,” the woman said, eyes growing sad as she stroked his muzzle.

A.J. felt her insides grow cold.

“Seems to be he was sold as a yearling to a stable not known for the humane treatment of its horses. I can’t say I could tell you exactly what happened to him there but, if what I know about the place is true, it’s likely he had some very tough times.”

“Oh, no…”

“The stables were closed down by the state two years ago. We’ve sold a lot of horses that had been trained there over the years and they’ve all had behavioral problems of one sort or another. After some kind treatment, most of them come round, though they’re never completely the same again. The abuse stays with them.”

“And no wonder,” A.J. said, putting a hand on the stallion’s neck. He turned his head to her, giving her an affectionate nudge.

It all made such awful sense. The way he got so aggressive with handlers and in the show ring, his finicky behavior about his feet that became violent if he was pressed, his suspicion of people he didn’t know. His fear of water. She’d heard of horses who were treated badly, knew some stories
of abuse, but usually owners and stables took good care of their stock, if for no other reason than the vast sums of money that got pumped into show horses. Unfortunately, there were tragic exceptions.

“I think I remember hearin’ about that place,” Chester spoke up. “The guy who ran it was a real sick bast—er, man. He used to have his grooms turn hoses on the horses. Said it was a way of exhaustin’ the animals out a’ misbehavin’. If the grooms didn’t do it, they’d get fired. An’ that was early on. By the time they got closed down, the man’d gone mad. Starvin’ an’ floggin’ the stock. It was a mess.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have better news,” Margaret said.

“Me, too,” A.J. said sadly.

It was incomprehensible to her how anyone could hurt something as magnificent as the stallion who was nibbling at the edge of her jacket collar. His breath was warm on her face and his butter-soft muzzle was ever so gently brushing up against her neck. Her heart bled for the cruelty he’d suffered and for the other animals that had been brutalized. The fact the stable had been closed down would never make up for what had happened to any of them.

“Ah, lass,” Margaret said, slipping an arm around A.J.’s shoulders. “Your heart’s in the right place. This stallion was lucky to find you and you him. It’s a fine pairin’.”

Chester nodded. “Very fine.”

“I need to go talk to Devlin,” A.J. said. “Will you excuse me?”

Margaret smiled. “Of course.”

“I’ll groom him real good,” Chester said before the question was posed. “Go on, now.”

Margaret and Chester watched the young woman leave.

“That’s a fine girl,” Margaret said.

“Yup. An’ you should see her on that horse. She’s brought ’im around like ya wouldn’t believe it.”

“Amazing what a little love will do.”

They were silent for a little.

“Say,” Chester said, looking down at his feet. “You like to play bingo?”

*   *   *

“Devlin?” A.J. called out as she came in the door.

“I’m in here.”

She followed the sound of his voice to the kitchen. He was eating a sandwich and offered to make her one. She shook her head.

“Margaret Mead just stopped by,” she said.

The distress in her voice made Devlin’s eyes sharpen.

“What did she say?”

As A.J. related the news, his face grew grim.

He let out a curse after she finished speaking.

“I knew some riders at that place. The stable had a high turnover rate and for good reason. There were rumors but a lot of people assumed it was just talk from grooms who’d gotten the pink slip or riders who didn’t agree with the management. Took the state too damn long to shut them down.”

Devlin reached his hand across the table to her and she took it, holding on tight. They talked for a while about the stallion’s misfortune.

“But he’s getting better with the water,” A.J. said, getting to her feet. “I think it’s because he really trusts me. I’m going back out with him now and try to—”

“I think you better take the afternoon off.”

“Why?”

Frustration crossed his face. “You’re upset. You’re tired.”

“Devlin—”

“You need a break.”

“No, I don’t. The Qualifier is only three weeks away.” She reached her good hand back and began unraveling the braid in her hair. When she was finished, she braided it up again, securing it in a tie.

“You’re working too hard.”

“I’m f—”

Devlin exploded, crashing his fist onto the table. “If I hear you say you’re fine one more time, I’m going to put my head through the wall!”

A.J. jerked back, surprised at the depth of his emotion. His eyes glittered with anger as he looked at her.

“You’re not eating. You look like hell. You spend
all night tossing and turning.” She opened her mouth. “And don’t deny it. I’m in that bed with you.”

He held up his hand before she could defend herself.

“A.J., you’re not going to make it if you don’t relax a little. You’re working yourself too hard and if this continues, you’re going to be no good to anyone the day of the Qualifier. You have to trust me on this.”

She looked away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.

In a much softer tone, he asked, “Why is this so important to you?”

Devlin could hear the thread of desperation in his voice. It was a cadence he didn’t recognize as his own and he might have even been ashamed of it at other junctures in his life. The weakness was of no consequence to him now. All that mattered was the woman he loved and the purple scars of exhaustion under her dull blue eyes.

When she didn’t answer him, he thought she was going to shut him out. Then, in a somber voice, she began talking.

“When I was younger, people used to tell me I looked like my mother. That I was her little shadow. As I got older, I became my father’s daughter, the rich girl who rode horses. Now I’m known for being trained by you and buying that horse.” She looked him in the eye. “When the hell am I going to be described by my own adjectives?

“Ever since I left home, I’ve been looking back and thinking that my life has been one long freight train of other people’s definitions. And part of it is my fault because I lived on the fringes of my father’s life for too long. But I don’t want to do that anymore.
I
picked Sabbath.
I
picked the Qualifier.
I’m
doing the work.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be Garrett Sutherland’s society princess. I don’t want to be just another marginal rider. And I’m willing to sacrifice to get what I want.”

Devlin got up from the table with a sharp motion.

“Are you walking out on me?” she asked.

He shook his head and offered her his hand.

When she wound her fingers through his, he took her up the stairs to the top landing and paused in front of the door
that had been shut the entire time she’d been at the farmhouse. When he opened it, the hinges creaked from lack of use.

A.J. let out a gasp as she looked past him.

The room was filled with competition trophies, ribbons, photographs. There were large silver plates and event cups, two Olympic gold medals, honorary jackets and horse blankets, pictures of Devlin and Mercy on countless magazine covers. She stepped inside, struggling to take it all in.

Most of the objects had been mounted on the walls, hung lovingly and in order. But not all of them. There was a saddle in one corner that seemed to have been discarded. It lay dying on the floor, distorting under its own weight as it splayed out. Across the pummel was a tangled bridle, and in front of the ruined tack, there were pairs of riding boots that fell across one another haphazardly, like a platoon of wounded soldiers.

All over this anarchy, and covering even those things that had been carefully tended to, there was a sheen of dust.

She turned to Devlin with wide eyes.

“I didn’t mean for this to become a shrine,” he said, glancing around. “I had to put all this stuff somewhere as it accumulated, and my need for order turned it into one. Now it’s more a mausoleum than anything else.”

“All these pictures,” A.J. marveled, focusing on one. It was of Devlin and Mercy at one of the Qualifiers. She remembered having watched them from the stands. “I was there for this one.”

He joined her. “That was a lot of years ago. A lifetime ago for me.”

“And I saw you win this,” she said, going over to one of the framed medals. It was like seeing part of her own history. “I was enthralled watching you and…”

A.J. stopped talking but kept looking.

When she’d surveyed the contents of the room, she said, “Thank you for showing me this. I’d always wondered where it had all gone.”

“This is the first time I’ve been in here in…God, it seems like forever. For a long time, I could barely stand walking by the door.” Devlin went over to the splayed saddle
and picked it up off the floor. “I can’t tell you how much time I spent in this.”