by Laura Moore
He hovered, suspended, his legs no longer even touching the saddle, balancing on the balls of his feet as he threw his body forward, helping his straining horse. Hands high over Vanguard’s neck. Doubt warred with hope. Could they possibly make it? And then the thrilled, ecstatic cheer resounding throughout Madison Square Garden when Steve and Vanguard proved that indeed they could. The crowd was on its feet, roaring, clapping wildly as Steve and Gordo cleared the final fence. Ty’s cheeks were wet, glistening in the floodlights as Steve cantered over to where she stood. His eyes, too, were moist. He wiped at tears of elation with the back of his hand.
Christ, that had been a hell of a ride. He leaned down, clapping his hand against Gordo’s shoulder and reined him to a trot, then a walk. He stopped in front of Ty.
“Hey, Ty, got that ribbon you wanted.”
She’d never seen him look happier. “So I see.” Ty laughed, wiping her eyes, her smile lit with a thousandwatt force. “That was beautiful, Steve. Look at the crowd, they’re still on their feet.”
Steve grinned at the fans applauding even now, then leaned over to pat Gordo’s neck once more. “He put on a show, didn’t he?”
“With a little help,” Ty said, shaking her head, still in a state of disbelief. One didn’t see riding like that very often. “Go on with you. They’ve got to haul out the red carpet and present you with the trophy.”
“Okay, but meet me back at the stalls directly afterward. We’ve got some celebrating to do.”
A long blue champion ribbon fluttered from the side of Gordo’s bridle, the horse’s body covered by the cooler that the director of the National Horse Show had presented Steve with. Ty had rushed back to Mac and Gordo’s stalls ahead of Steve. Catching sight of that flutter of blue, Ty gave Enrique the signal and the cork on the bottle of champagne she’d had cooling in an extra water bucket popped out. Ty held four plastic cups ready and waiting. Two more were produced with exclamations when Sam Brody and Lizzie Osborne appeared a few minutes later.
“Hope we’re not interrupting,” Lizzie said, planting a smacking kiss on Steve’s cheek and one on Gordo’s, too. “I’d been planning on leaving before the end of your class, Steve, but you had me glued to the seat right to the very last second.”
“Don’t believe her. When I showed up, she was already on her feet, jumping up and down. You must have heard her, she was the one shouting, “GO, STEVE, GO!”
Steve grinned at Sam’s description, at the annoyed look on Lizzie’s face. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I think I did hear someone who sounded awfully like Lizzie.”
Outlandish toasting and praising, mixed with hearty laughter, continued while Gordo and Mac were painstakingly rubbed down, their tired legs and muscles soothed with liniment. Ty had a bag of carrots she passed to Sam, who divided them equally between Mac and Gordo. Then Bubba and Enrique left, taking the horses to walk some more. Afterward, they’d be bandaged, watered, and fed. After that, everyone, horses and humans, could finally rest.
A voice broke into the revelry. “Steve, just wanted to congratulate you. Those were awesome rounds you turned in. The Garden doesn’t see a shutout every day.”
Cassie Miller was still in her breeches, with the sleeves of her rat-catcher rolled past the elbows. Her hair was unpinned. It fell in golden waves down her back.
Steve’s face split in a happy grin. “Thanks, Cassie. Ty, I’d like you to meet Cassie Miller. Cassie’s that rider I was telling you to watch for. Cassie, my partner, Ty Stannard.”
Ty shook Cassie’s hand. “You had some fine rides yourself this evening,” Ty offered graciously.
“Thanks. I consider third and fifth quite respectable, given the competition tonight.” Cassie shook her head. “I really thought I had you, Steve.”
“So did I,” Steve laughed. “I was already cantering into the ring when you came out. You looked so good out there, I never bothered to check the clock. I figured you were the one to beat. Earlier, Ty had insisted only blue would do, and Gordo seemed to agree. There didn’t seem any other way to ride it.”
“I don’t think anyone else could have ridden it like that.”
Steve waved the compliment aside. “Those horses of yours will have their night to shine real soon,” he predicted. “Cassie, let me introduce you to our friends. This is Lizzie Osborne, fellow equestrian. And this is . . .”
“Don’t I know you?” Cassie was already saying, looking quizzically at Sam.
“Yeah.” Sam smiled. “You do. I’m Sam. Sam Brody. A friend of your brother’s. We met a few years ago.”
“Sam Brody!” Cassie Miller cried with the same enthusiasm one might reserve for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. She rushed toward him, and hugged him enthusiastically. Watching, Lizzie’s eyes narrowed dangerously. It nettled that Sam wasn’t exactly unresponsive to this effusive display of affection, either.
“I can’t thank you enough for what you did for Greataunt Grace,” Cassie was saying. “It’s changed our lives! All last week, the kids were e-mailing her and sending their drawings to her with a click of the mouse. And that thing you had us download . . . the game? A major hit! Who’d have thought this would be a way for two sixyearolds and a ninety-one-year-old woman to connect?”
“Mrs. Miller took to it like a duck to water,” Sam replied easily.
“Well, Alex and I are eternally grateful. Great-aunt Grace means a lot to us.”
“Can we offer you some champagne, Cassie?”
“Oh, no thanks, Ty, really. I’ve got to be running along, get back to my own horses. You’ll be seeing Alex soon, Sam?”
“Hope to. Caught a glimpse of him in the stands, he looked busy with the kids. They’ve grown some.”
“At an alarming rate!” Ty laughed. “Another reason to get back. It’s an awfully late night for them.”
Cassie turned to Ty and Steve. “Well, so long, and once again, congratulations.”
“You’ll be seeing us sooner rather than later, Cassie.” Steve said. “Ty’s a firm believer in sharing good fortune,” looping his arm about Ty’s shoulders. “I’m guessing that means we’ll be making a side trip to your farm next week. See how much of our prize money we can spend.”
“And you’ll be welcomed with open arms.” Cassie Miller laughed.
While Steve and Ty were drinking what was obviously a private toast, staring deep into each other’s eyes, totally lost to the world, Sam turned to Lizzie. “What’s got your nose out of joint?”
“What are you talking about?” Lizzie demanded coolly.
“You know, the way your nose shot up in the air as soon as Cassie Miller showed up. She’s a nice kid, and has had some tough breaks. Too bad you didn’t say a word to her because she’d be a good friend.”
“She seemed far too busy being friendly with you. Such a touching reunion, by the way.”
“Lizzie! Is that a note of jealousy I detect? Impossible,” he concluded, his laughter pitched low, for her ears only. “But in case I’m wrong, any time you want to show me how happy you are to see me, you go right ahead.”
“Oh, Sam.” Lizzie stared up at his chiseled face, her lashes batting Scarlett O’Hara-like. “Would you please, please hold your breath until I do?”
30
T y didn’t appear unbearably torn or conflicted in deciding whether to accompany Steve to Clyde Farrell’s place and look at horses or to stay where she was, with his mother and sisters in the Sheppards’
homey kitchen. When she opted to remain in the company of the Sheppard women, it couldn’t have pleased Steve more. Ty was clearly captivated by the flow of chatter and laughter his mother and sisters shared. Steve didn’t imagine she’d ever been exposed to a family this relaxed and easygoing. Steve and his father left Ty in the hands of Olivia, Maggie, and Kerry, Steve knowing everything would be fine when he received only a distracted “See you” after brushing his lips against the shell of her ear. Ty was practically oblivious to his presence, busily engaged in the task at hand: mixing th
e ingredients for an apple raisin cake and listening avidly to a particularly involved story Kerry was embellishing with her usual flair for exaggeration, something about Steve and her in a cross-country race on their father’s tractors.
Kerry, too, was cooking, not that she was awarded with anything but the most menial of tasks, such as slicing carrots. Unlike Maggie and Mom, Kerry refused to be serious about the culinary arts. She far preferred to pilfer ingredients and gossip about horses between bites. Give her a batch of cookies to bake, and half the dough would be eaten before it got to the sheet. Kerry’s willingness to be stuck in a kitchen chopping a mountain of carrots was a pretty good indication that she was dying of curiosity to learn everything she could about Steve’s new partner.
Steve’s fingers had been crossed, hoping Ty would choose the apple cake recipe and hours of stories about his family over a trip to Clyde Farrell’s. He was working on a surprise for her, the thought having waylaid him out of the blue. Now that it had him in its grip, however, he couldn’t wait to spring it on her. Steve hadn’t visited Clyde Farrell since Fancy’s death, only talked to him on the phone, explaining the tragedy in halting words to the friend who’d sold Steve the finest horse he’d ever ridden. A growing nervousness filled him, anxious how the older man would react when they were face to face. He needn’t have worried, for Clyde pulled Steve into a long bear hug, the strength in his body evident despite Clyde’s pushing seventy.
“Good to see you, Shepp,” Clyde said gruffly, stepping back, his eyes bright with emotion.
“Good to be back, Clyde,” Steve returned simply, his arm clasped around his mentor’s shoulders. “It’s been a rough couple months, but I think I’ve turned a corner.” He swallowed down the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. “I want you to know, Clyde, we planted some apple trees over Fancy’s grave. It’s going to look beautiful when those trees bloom.”
“Hardest thing to do, to say good-bye to something you love.” Clyde fished out a crumpled bandanna from his pocket and blew noisily. “Both your pop and I have been through it over the years. Still just as painful, ain’t it, Steve?”
“Damn near tears you apart,” Steve Sr. agreed.
The men walked on, Steve talking softly about Fancy Free, Clyde nodding his thinning gray head of hair. Then, “I suppose Pop’s told you I have a new partner.”
As though suddenly interested in a group of horses being led in from a field, Steve Sr. ambled off in their direction.
“You kidding me, Shepp? Steve was on the horn with me yesterday about five minutes after you arrived, bragging about what a fine, intelligent, young woman she is. I was hoping to meet her.”
“Sorry, Clyde, Ty got waylaid by Mom and Maggie in the kitchen. Mom’s really taken with her.”
Clyde’s hand absently rubbed his belly, sighing as if he hadn’t eaten in decades. “Couldn’t ask for a higher recommendation than that.”
“Well, Mom might be a bit partial, Ty’s so polite and all. But since I came out here alone, I thought I’d see whether you have a youngster Ty might be able to bring along. It’s a surprise.”
“She know how to ride?”
Steve nodded. “Yeah, she’s good, too. Listens well. I think she’d enjoy working with a young horse, building a relationship. Ty’s patient and gentle and has good instincts. And real soft hands.”
“My kind of woman,” Clyde said heartily. “Tell you what, Shepp, I happen to have a couple of beauties that might be just the ticket for your lady friend.”
“My partner,” Steve corrected with a grin.
* * *
“But Steve,” Ty protested, “I’m not possibly knowledgeable enough to help you select a horse.”
“Time to get experienced, then, partner,” Steve replied, roaring down the narrow country road whose twists and turns he knew as well as Southwind’s driveway.
“All right,” Ty muttered. “This is totally crazy, but all right.”
She couldn’t help the loud sigh of pleasure when they turned into Clyde Farrell’s farm. There weren’t many places in the world where horses enjoyed such beautifully maintained surroundings as in Kentucky, and Clyde’s place set the standard. Ty got out of the car slowly, her head swiveling, feet following as she looked all around her, horse heaven for three hundred and sixty degrees. Before her stretched a seemingly endless white parallel line of double wooden fences, enclosing stillverdant fields. To her right were majestic white barns topped by gray roofs and gables. Near and far, horses, such horses.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Steve said, standing beside her.
“I’m speechless.”
“Don’t be,” Steve advised lightly as he took her hand. “Other than breeding horses, there are few things Clyde likes so much as talking.”
“Easy to tell which one she’s got her eye on. Shows fine instinct, Shepp,” Clyde couldn’t resist observing in an undertone, careful to move only the corner of his mouth. He’d promised Steve he’d keep his trap shut, not spoil the surprise. Though as far as Clyde could tell, Steve had no reason to worry. Ty Stannard had moved a few feet away, standing by the side of the rail, rubbing a dark gray gelding’s head. Her eyes remained fixed on the horse even when, momentarily distracted, it sidled off to tear at a few clumps of grass. When its natural curiosity prompted it to return to Ty’s side, she rewarded it with husky whispering and gently scratching fingers.
“What’s the gelding’s name again?” Steve asked, following Ty’s every move.
“Silvermine. He’s by Jetstreak out of Sudden Glory. Glory’s still giving us nice foals. Matter of fact, the one you rode this morning, Elusive”—he pointed to a dark bay gelding playfully nipping the withers of another young horse—“is Billetdoux’s and Glory’s. Billetdoux is by Bellelettres, and Bellelettres was . .
.”
“Fancy Free’s dam,” Steve finished with a smile. “I remember, Clyde.” There was something in the way Elusive carried his head, the way he moved over the flat that reminded Steve of Fancy, too. His father also had noted it. Buying a young horse was always a bit of a gamble, but Steve and his father were men who were willing to follow a hunch. More often than not, it paid off.
“Can you saddle them for us? I’ll just ride Elusive lightly; Ty might get suspicious, otherwise.”
“But I didn’t bring my breeches with me, Steve!” Ty was completely baffled by Steve’s behavior. Truth be told, he was acting more than a little weird. Admittedly, she found the young gelding entrancing; he was lovely, his sleek body covered in bluish-black rosettes, the lighter gray mane and tail a striking contrast. But that didn’t mean she had to try him out, for Pete’s sake!
“If you hop on him, then I can judge how he moves. Look.” He feigned impatience. “Much as I love Clyde, I don’t really want to spend all day here. Mom’s been killing herself making this huge Thanksgiving feast. I was hoping we could get back in time to shower and change. If you don’t want to ride, that’s okay, but . . .” Steve let the word dangle, laying it on nice and thick.
“I’m going, I’m going! I just don’t see the point!”
The point was that Ty looked perfect astride the dapple gray. At sixteen hands, Silvermine wasn’t an overly big horse. Indeed, he possessed the finest features in an Anglo-Arab: the trim physique, the strong, slender legs, the beautifully arched neck, ending in a dainty, diamond-shaped head. And shining from his eyes a calm intelligence.
Although Silvermine was three years old and had graduated from cavalettis, or ground rails, to jumping small cross bars, Clyde Farrell was of the school of thought that didn’t believe in throwing too much at a horse too soon. Perhaps that’s why Steve, when he was in the market for a new prospect, always headed to Clyde’s first. He knew he’d find a horse still open and willing, not riddled with the fears and bad habits young horses sometimes had when their training was rushed along at warp speed.
“How’d you like him?”
“He’s truly lovely, Steve. Not very different fro
m Cantata in the way he’s built, all slim and sleek, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to go slipping out from under me, you know what I mean?”
“That’s the Arab in him, Ty,” Clyde offered proudly. “A braver, truer breed you won’t find.”
Steve merely grunted, carefully noncommittal. Get Clyde on the topic of Anglo-Arabs and why they were better than any other pure or crossbreed, and they’d be there all night. “Let me see how he moves over those ground rails, would you, Ty?”
“And what about you?” Ty asked. “The gelding you’re on is gorgeous.”
“One gorgeous horse at a time, love.”
And besides, not really necessary, as Steve had already decided Elusive was coming back to Southwind. Right now, Steve was simply enjoying the pleasure of walking the young horse around, seeing how well he responded to the pressure of Steve’s leg. One could learn a lot about a horse that way, its attitude, its suppleness. Already, Elusive was beginning to yield, his body flexing to the right, then to the left. Responding without any pressure from the reins, his attitude relaxed and alert. Steve kept walking, pretending not to notice the wistful-expression that came and went on Ty’s face. Steve was happily fixated on the manner in which Ty surreptitiously licked the tines of her fork, her tongue darting out to capture the last remaining crumbs of flaky crust, molasses and brandy-drenched pecans. Nobody else seemed to notice but him. Steve’s father too busy enjoying himself, holding court, regaling Ty and the family with the many highlights of his career in racing and training thoroughbreds. Pop might very well go on talking a few more hours, he being a man who appreciated an audience. Despite the prodigious amount of food they’d all consumed, everyone’s dessert plate was scraped clean, and only one narrow slice remained in the pie plate. Not surprising, as pecan pies like his sister Maggie’s were a rare treat for the senses. Steve, however, was enjoying the vicarious thrill of watching Ty finish hers even more than he’d enjoyed his own slices.
