The Stable Affair

by Jessica Andersen

  “If only a few people go clean in this round,” Sarah whispered, “placings and money will go to the fastest four-faulters, so once you have a rail you go hell-bent for leather, chasing a low ribbon. A perfect job by the course designer will give you exactly as many jump off riders as there are ribbons. Any more and the course was too easy, any fewer and it was too hard.”

  Of the next four riders, two had rails, one had a refusal to earn three jumping faults and exceeded the time allowed to earn two time penalties, and the last went clean to a roar of approval from the people packing the grassy banks and settled under the catered VIP tents.

  “Time’s a little tight,” commented Tilda, “You might need to cut a few more corners than we planned, maybe do that inside turn between six and seven.”

  Sarah grunted agreement and they watched two of the next eight go clean.

  “Well, we should get you on.” Tilda led them to where Philippe held a gleaming, braided Noble. Sarah brushed at the snow-white britches she’d managed to keep relatively clean and shrugged into her navy jacket. Catching Dante’s glance, she grinned. “Well, red’s really not my color…” But for just a moment she allowed herself to think of the future. Maybe Modi or that spotted filly of Peekaboo’s…

  Tilda checked Noble’s feet, making sure that the pointed grass studs were securely screwed into holes drilled into his shoes. On the slick grass course, the studs would provide extra traction like the cleats of an athlete’s sneaker. Satisfied, Tilda boosted Sarah aboard her mount and stepped back. “Just loosen him up for a few minutes and I’ll come out and set some jumps for you,” she instructed and Sarah grinned.

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Snippy thing!” Tilda muttered. She turned back to the ring, sobering when she saw the bodyguards range themselves around the warm up area.

  “For a moment you can almost forget, can’t you?” Dante spoke quietly from behind her.

  She sighed. “Yes. But not really. We’ve had to be so careful.” She turned to him. “When do you think it’ll be over? When will they get that man?”

  He shrugged. “Soon I hope. I’d like to go back to living a normal life.” Not that he was sure what “a normal life” would be like. He and Sarah were so caught up in the present they had yet to discuss the future. They hadn’t had time alone since that night in the trailer. Had she really said she loved him, or had he just imagined it because he wanted it so badly? Would there be a future for them?

  Sarah’s warm up went well and she called a halt after only ten jumps, knowing she and Noble were as ready as they’d ever be. She closed her eyes a moment and sent a silent prayer upward for their safety, then guided Noble into the gate.

  The rider before her made a real hash of things, racking up twenty jumping faults and three time penalties before blundering between the finish timers to a quiet patter of applause. Sarah took a deep breath and her eyes sought out Dante’s for a moment before she and her horse entered the ring.

  As with the other riders, the announcer gave a brief bio of Sarah and her horse as they awaited the starting buzzer. The voice touched on her junior career and her win at this very same classic in 1992, and finished by remarking that the twenty-one year-old Almost Noble was the oldest horse competing in the Grand Prix.

  The tone sounded.

  A shot rang out.

  Noble spooked and Sarah looked toward the sound, thinking to dive for cover. She saw the bodyguards, Dante, and Daniel scrambling toward the road from which the explosion had sounded.

  “Sorry!” yelled the owner of a rattletrap Ford truck sitting near the entrance, blue smoke wafting from its tailpipe.

  It had been only a backfire. Sarah gulped a breath and centered herself immediately, knowing she had only seconds of the minute grace period left before she would be eliminated for not starting her course. She jerked Noble’s head high and galloped him through the start timers with no preliminary circle, aiming at the first jump and trusting that it was as solid as it had looked during the course walk.

  It was, but it rattled precariously when Noble gave it a hard rub with his back feet on the way over. He shook his head on landing and Sarah gave him the slow five strides to the next obstacle to let him settle.

  They picked their way carefully around the first half of the course until Sarah glanced at the digital timer display and realized they were way off pace. She’d have to shave ten seconds in the last half of the course while still jumping clean in order to make the second round. She galvanized Noble with her seat and sliced across the next jump at a dangerous angle, knowing it would set her up for a sharp, time-saving turn on the landing side.

  Too late, she heard the crowd gasp and remembered it was one of the flat-cupped skinny jumps.

  “Noble, hah!” she yelled, hoping she’d startle him into jerking his feet an inch higher. He leapt like a kangaroo, almost bouncing her out of her tack as he cleared the skinny jump by a mile and spun neatly to make the inside turn.

  He all but dragged her to the railroad combination, slinking over it fluidly and mocking the flashing lights with a flirt of his heels. They tore around the bank jump to attack the last four obstacles, and cleared them in a whirlwind of hooves and leather before they thundered through the finish timers a scant two-tenths of a second under the time allowed.

  The crowd screamed its approval and Sarah lifted a hand in thanks as they galloped an entire circuit of the field before she could rein the snorting Noble back to a canter, then a trot.

  She walked him from the ring and slid down his quivering side, stroking her hand over the ugly scar on his side. Freemont took the reins to walk the blowing horse until he was cool and Sarah gracefully doubled over like a rag doll, head dangling between her knees, body shaking like a leaf.

  Concerned, Dante stepped forward but Tilda waved him back. “Give her a minute to shake. The adrenaline rush from a big jumper class is intense but quickly done with. She’s better off if you let her be. I’ve had her faint on me after a big class when I’ve made her walk too soon.”

  Sure enough, Sarah stood up a minute later, seeming none the worse for wear, babbling excitedly as she told Tilda about her decisions at every single jump as if her aunt hadn’t watched the whole thing with her fingernails digging into Dante’s arm.

  Dante grinned to see Sarah so happy, and he was glad she had ridden after all. He wished Ellie could’ve been there to see it, but until Seville was in custody, the girl was safer with her grandmother.

  That backfire had almost stopped his heart—he still wasn’t entirely steady even now—but Sarah Taylor had been able to squelch the fear and ride like the wind.

  He remembered his reaction the first time he’d seen her show jump, and his complete conviction that she and the black colt were going to die as they slowly cantered around a course of jumps half the size of the ones in the Grand Prix.

  He hadn’t been scared for her today as he watched her sprout wings and fly. He shifted a little and stuck his hands in his front pockets. To his amused chagrin, he’d been thoroughly turned on. He had found the sight of that lithe body in the white britches and severely tailored blue jacket controlling eleven hundred pounds of airborne horse to be more erotic that the slowest striptease.

  Dante cleared his throat harshly and Sarah and her aunt looked at him in surprise. “Uh. How much time does Sarah have before she rides again?” Time enough for a quick grapple in the trailer maybe?

  “Almost an hour. We need to get back to the stables and slap some liniment and ice on Noble’s legs to keep them from blowing up. They’ve got another twenty riders to do in the first round then they’ll adjust the course for the jump off and we’ll walk the shortened course. They’ll come back in the same order they qualified, so Sarah’ll go sixth.”

  Hmmm… he thought. I guess that means sex is out, right? He eyed her tight buns in those slick white britches and suppressed a groan. “I guess I’ll go get some lunch. You guys want anything?”

  Unaware of Dante’s
growling libido, Sarah was already going over the jump off course in her head, looking for the time saving inside turns. “Yeah. Can you get me a regular Coke and a brownie or chocolate chip cookie or something?” She rarely ate real meals when she showed, existing instead on sugar and caffeine until she was done.

  Dante took Tilda’s order and Daniel and one of the heavies decided to hit the food tent as well, leaving the ladies and the other guard to head back and check on the horse.

  Noble’s legs seemed fine, not strained or sore. He’d torn off one grass stud, but it was quickly replaced with a spare. When he was thoroughly cool they offered him hay and water before sponging him down with a bracing liniment wash and letting him relax in his stall, legs packed in ice.

  “God that was fun!” Sarah flopped onto a canvas chair and stretched her booted legs out in front of her. She had a dark smudge on one leg of her white pants, but that was still better than she usually did at the big shows. “Maybe we could keep Modi and see if he’d do the Open Jumpers next year for me.”

  “Where’d you put the ice gel for Noble’s legs? That left front could use another rubdown before you ride again, there’s a little puffiness along the tendon.”

  Sarah thought for a moment. “I’m pretty sure there’s another bucket in the dressing room of the trailer. You stay here and I’ll go get it.” Too pumped up to sit still, Sarah trotted off with her bodyguard trailing behind.

  Tilda wasn’t sure if Sarah was supposed to be going off on her own, so she tried to raise the others on her half-charged walkie-talkie but failed. Tilda shrugged and Noble snorted. “Oh well. I’m sure she’ll be right back.”

  The trailers were parked well behind the show ground and the vendor’s tents. The rows of aluminum boxes detached from their usual trucks looked vaguely eerie to Sarah and she hurried to find her own trailer amongst the others.

  She hadn’t bothered to unhitch her truck from the trailer—they were just there for the day. The truck. That was a nice way to think of it, in lower case letters.

  The gleaming hood of the Dodge got a friendly pat from Sarah as she walked by. She had made her peace with the thing the day it saved her from Gordon’s thug. Her older, lighter pickup never would’ve managed to stop the six-horse without jackknifing. She had been lucky to have the Dodge.

  Maybe she should buy it some mud flaps or floor mats or something as a thank you present.

  Maybe she should get a life and stop thinking of her vehicle as a sentient being.

  She boosted herself into the dressing room of the trailer and started rummaging through the assorted equine paraphernalia, looking for the leg bracing gel. She found several mismatched boots, some used polo wraps, and a bra. “So that’s where you went,” she said to her underwear. A reminiscent smile touched her lips when she remembered exactly how it had gotten in the dressing room.

  Dante found watching her ride to be a major turn on.

  She heard a thump behind her. “That you Rob?” She thought the guy following her’s name was Rob, but she had some trouble telling him apart from his partner Cesare. “Aha! Here’s the goop. Let’s take this back to the tent for Noble’s leg then I’d like to go walk the jump off course.”

  “I’m sorry my dear Miss Taylor, but I’m afraid that will be quite impossible.” She jerked her head around to see her former employer standing not ten feet away with Rob crumpled at his feet. The Doctor held the small pistol as elegantly as he did everything else, but with an ease that made Sarah very, very nervous.

  She tried to brazen it through. “Gordon! What a nice surprise. Did you come to wish me luck in the jump off?”

  The Doctor snorted. “I always hated that you used my first name like you were my equal. Fontaine thought it was funny, but he was an idiot. A brilliant idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Gordon Seville loved to boast as he loved nothing else, and in a strange way he’d been unable to share this breakthrough with anyone who was likely to understand it. “He cured Huntington’s.”

  Sarah was stunned. They had suspected something of the sort, but hearing the words was incredible. “What?”

  “He did it. That stupid little side project of his paid off. He genetically engineered those mice to develop the disease—something nobody else had been able to do in the first place—then cured it.” Seville moved closer to Sarah and she tried not to cringe. His skin looked vaguely scaly when viewed at close range.

  “What do you mean? I thought the delivery technology was still years away.” Keep him talking; she had to keep him talking.

  Seville flipped his hand dismissively. “Apparently not. Fontaine cobbled something together that did the job. We’re just not sure how since he’s gone and we don’t have all his notes.”

  “Then why did you kill him? You did kill him, didn’t you? Why Jay? Why not keep him alive to continue his work?”

  “He was being regrettably stubborn about moving into human trials of his therapy. He had started spouting off about the greater good and his responsibility to the public and releasing his work on the Internet so that other labs could take advantage of his protocols. Do you have any idea how much money can be made with this treatment?”

  Sarah had a pretty good idea and it was a staggering amount. Jay had been killed so that Gordon could protect his pocketbook. How sad. Gordon seemed relaxed, so she took the chance of jumping out of the dressing room. She felt safer with her feet on the ground. “Then why did Susan have to die? What information did she have?”

  Gordon gave a bark of laughter. “No information. She was one of our successes.”

  Sarah was baffled. “How’s that?”

  “You took the test papers from her folder, didn’t you? Don’t you get it? I injected her with Fontaine’s formula after she tested positive for the disease and when she died she tested negative. The cure worked!” His reptilian eyes glittered feverishly. “It worked!”

  Worked? “Did Susan kill herself?”

  Gordon shook his head. “There are still some complications with the formula. Apparently it works by activating alternate pathways of neurogenesis as well as by altering the individual’s genetic structure. She died from the brain tumors, but luckily she was in my office when it happened, so I had Rumney take her home and set it up to look like a suicide. We didn’t kill her, at least not directly.”

  Gordon was gesturing more and more wildly as he spoke, waving the gun around with increasing abandon. His eyes were huge in his face and it was the fanatical look in them more than anything that worried Sarah. She tried to keep him talking in the hopes that someone would come looking for her soon. She saw that Rob had not yet moved and prayed the bodyguard was unconscious rather than shot dead.

  “Why me? Why’d you set me up to take the fall?”

  Gordon shrugged. “You’re too smart, and I wasn’t sure how much Fontaine had told you. Actually, you were supposed to die with Fontaine in the accident, but Rumney got careless. So when we needed somebody to go down with the St. Pierre death, you were our first choice.”

  “How flattering. Why didn’t you just leave me alone, Gordon? I was just going off to teach riding. I wasn’t going to bother you any more, why didn’t you just let me go?”

  “Besides the fact that Devers added himself into the mix? Fontaine was too smart. The records he left at the lab aren’t complete, and his notes are cryptic. The sequence data he left in the lab computers is either incomplete or just plain wrong. We haven’t been able to duplicate his results. Susan St. Pierre is the closest we’ve come to success yet, and even she had complications.”

  “Complications?” Sarah’s voice cracked on the word. “Yeah, I’d consider death to be a nasty complication.”

  Gordon focused the weapon more carefully on her. “Don’t be snotty, Miss Taylor. There are still glitches to be worked out, but things would move much more smoothly if we had Fontaine’s actual working sequence in our possession. That’s where you come in.”


  “Me? I haven’t got anything of Jay’s. Anyway, haven’t you searched my stuff enough times to be sure it isn’t there?”

  “Perhaps, but he’s proven more resourceful in death than I imagined he would be. I do wish he’d been persuaded to act more reasonably at the time. It was most inconvenient to lose him in the lab. I regretted his death.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Sarah heard the muffled throb of the loudspeaker and wondered if Gordon had hurt Dante. Was that why he hadn’t come looking for her yet? There was a roar of approval from the thousands that crowded around the main ring and Sarah wondered what was happening.

  The Doctor heard it too, and knew his time was running out. The others would come looking for her soon. “That’s quite enough chatter for now, Miss Taylor. I was briefly tempted to take you with me for companionship—Fontaine seemed to find you pleasant enough—but I’ve come to realize that would be a poor idea. Rumney was supposed to dispose of you, but he failed at that. Therefore, if you would be so kind as to step into the trailer please? I expect it will take the others longer to find your body in there.”

  He gestured with the pistol and Sarah’s guts turned to water. Help wasn’t coming, was it? She took a step backward, pressing against the trailer. She felt a hard lump behind her, pressing into the small of her back.

  The walkie-talkie! She shifted again, trying to work it loose.

  “Stop squirming and get in the trailer!” Seville barked and she froze, radio between her back and the door handle of the dressing room.

  She pressed harder against the door handle and heard a click and a faint hiss from the muted walkie-talkie.

  The airwave was open.

  “So Gordon, you’re going to shoot me out here, by my own trailer down in the parking area?” She spoke loudly, hoping Tilda or Dante had their radios on and turned up. “That’s pretty dangerous, what with all these people here. Why don’t you just go? I won’t bother with you any more, I promise.”