“He’s kidding, right?” Erin asked. “Ringling Brothers’ clowns?”
“I’m afraid not. Our father likes to do things in a big way, in case you haven’t yet noticed. Money has never been known to hold Grant Connelly back.” But it had held her back. If she couldn’t find love, the very least she should have been able to find was herself. She hadn’t succeeded. She still wondered who Alexandra Connelly really was. Why had she been put on this planet? What was the special gift she had been meant to share with the world?
Or was she just another rich girl destined to marry wisely, chair committees for charities…and wish she were someone else?
So far, all she had discovered was that she was good at attracting men. Like Robert Marsh. Men who were intelligent, good-looking, aggressive at both work and play. In short, every woman’s dream. Every woman but her. Because these men all saw the same thing in her—a fast road toward wealth and success. When your father was the famous Grant Connelly, any man who married you was guaranteed a place in Connelly Corporation and a niche in a family that liked to share its prosperity.
For a moment, there was a vision of white silk and a beaded bodice, of a veil that had covered her face to hide tears on the day before her wedding. It had been during the final fitting that she’d walked in on her fiancé and best friend. The rest was a blur as she flung off shreds of priceless fabric, sobbing as she told herself she would fly to the Virgin Islands, to China, or to the most remote regions of Africa that very night. And, no, she would not be marrying Robert. Ever!
She had left him, if not literally at the altar, only hours away from it.
Bitterness and anger seethed within her again, subsiding only as she sipped a cool tropical juice drink. She should have seen the signs, should have learned over the years. The world was full of Robert Marshes, and the only way to have a safe relationship with a man was, ironically, by lying to him.
Thus she would be a horse trainer if that was what she chose to be for a few hours.
Phillip Kinrowan’s estate perched on a cliff overlooking the blue-green Tyrrhenian Sea. The day was bright and warm. The stone had baked in the sun all morning and felt smooth and pleasantly hot against the soles of Alex’s bare feet as she climbed. She squinted up the steep face of the cliff, then looked back down to the beach where the motor launch had left her, its driver pointing toward the ancient stairway. Above her she could see nothing but blue sky. The smell of wild jasmine and portulaca was almost overpowering, a heady brew when mixed with the brine of the ocean lapping at the rocks beneath her.
At last her head rose above the edge of the cliff and a long, low white structure came into view, set back from the rocks by a carpet of manicured emerald grass. She drew in a slow breath. “Oh, my…”
It wasn’t the largest house she’d ever seen, but it had character and charm and something that didn’t come from one or two generations of luck and money. This place had old-world history built into it. It might have been constructed of the gleaming white limestone in the days when Rome or Athens was devouring chunks of Europe. Or it might have been built centuries later to emulate the classic lines of antiquity. Slender white columns stretched up to support a portico of sun-catching stone. Long wings of the low building curved around a fountain, a circular drive, and a beautifully maintained garden. She judged that although there was only one floor, the house could accommodate fifty or more overnight guests within its many sun-drenched rooms.
Feeling less confident about her quick visit, she slowly walked up the path of crushed shells toward the main entrance of the estate. Before she reached the steps, a figure in a white shirt and pants, a straw Panama hat and leather espadrilles moved out of the shadows and came down the steps toward her.
Phillip smiled. “Welcome to my home, Sandora.”
“Have you been lurking there waiting for long?” she asked.
“The launch jockey radioed that he’d dropped you off on the beach.”
“I see. When you said you’d send someone to pick me up in Altaria-Ville, I assumed it would be a car.”
“It could have been, but it would have taken longer. And the view by water can’t be beat.” He held out a hand to her, and she assumed he was either going to shake hands American-style, or kiss her fingertips as Europeans do. Instead he enclosed her fingers in a warm grip and tucked them between his elbow and the side of his body, then began walking her across the lawn toward what she could now see was the stables.
“Well,” she said nervously, “the view was great. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Lunch won’t be ready for an hour. I hope you don’t mind looking at Eros first.”
“Eros?” The god of love, if she remembered her mythology. Another name for Cupid, the imp who had caused Medea to fall in love with Jason while on his search for the golden fleece. The outcome had been tragic.
“My problem horse. He’s always been a wonderful mount. Won me a bundle of Grand Prix ribbons as a jumper. Aside from that, I just plain like him better than any other horse in my stable. But he’s refusing jumps now.”
“When did he start doing that?” she asked.
“About a month ago. It happened very suddenly. No warning at all. One of my exercise lads was taking him through his paces, just warming him up easy before I came out to ride for the day. By the time I reached the ring, the lad was on the ground cursing the horse, and Eros was in a lather, pacing the yard as if he’d been terribly frightened.”
“He might have been. You can never tell with horses what will spook them.” She felt satisfied with how astute and experienced she sounded. “Did you ask the boy what had happened?”
“Of course.” Phillip anxiously dragged fingers through his thick brown hair. “No one in the yard saw anything that might have scared the animal. Nothing out of the ordinary seems to have happened during those few minutes.”
“Hmmm,” Alex said, aiming for an expression of sage perplexity. “Well, let’s take a look at him.”
Phillip led her down a row of half doors, the generous-sized stalls behind them smelling of cedar chips, saddle soap and the natural muskiness of horseflesh. She had always loved this part of being around horses—the smells, rough and masculine textures, sounds of hooves restlessly shifting on wooden planks, snuffles and whinnies of horses talking to one another in their secret language. It was the riding part that hadn’t been as easy, or at least as painless.
Phillip stopped in front of a stall and whistled between his teeth. Almost immediately, an enormous black head with shining dark eyes appeared in the opening. “Hello, Eros, old man,” Phillip murmured tenderly. He ran a gentle hand beneath the horse’s chin and thumped the side of its neck.
“Phillip,” she gasped, “he’s gorgeous.” She meant it.
Her eyes took in the dark line of the animal’s body on the other side of the door. The classic lines of the Thoroughbred were perfected in the shining flanks, the delicate limbs and well-muscled barrel chest of the horse. She’d ridden some wonderful horses as a girl, up until the time she’d quit her lessons fourteen years ago when she turned sixteen and gotten up the nerve to tell her father riding just wasn’t for her. But Eros made them all look like commoners.
Alex swallowed over a lump of emotion in her throat. Would she ever dare ride such a horse? Or course, Phillip probably didn’t let just anyone hop on the back of this magnificent creature, clearly his pride and joy.
“Any opinion?” he asked, interrupting her admiration.
“He’s wonderful, of course,” she breathed.
“I meant, your professional judgment.”
“Oh. Of course.” She recovered quickly, her mind racing to come up with something…anything that might sound like trainer-talk. “Ummm. Well, anyone can see he’s still jittery. Something has broken his confidence.”
Phillip scowled and reached out to rest his palm over the wide, velvety bridge of Eros’s nose. “You can see that in here? Just by looking at him?”
She nodded
wisely. “Yes. I’ve seen this sort of thing a lot. The whole character of the horse can change after one bad incident.”
“But nothing happened to—”
“Nothing your stable hands will admit to,” she said quickly. “I don’t know about you, but people who work for my fa— my employer,” she corrected herself hastily, “although they may be loyal and honest in most ways, often have trouble admitting to a mistake. They don’t want to make their boss angry, so it’s natural to cover up, hoping things will mend themselves.”
He studied her for a long moment. “I suppose you’re right. I probably will never know what, if anything, got to Eros that day.”
“Exactly.” She felt more confident now that she’d gotten him to agree with her, even though her point was a vague one at best. “So all we can do now is build the horse’s confidence.”
“How do we do that?”
She only had to think for a second before she remembered how she’d recovered after a few bad falls. “You start at the beginning. Retrain him as if he’s never jumped before.”
Phillip shook his head. “My own trainer said that he must be made to take a couple of high jumps, then he’ll be fine.”
She let out a doubtful chortle. “Right. And how are you going to force a couple thousand pounds of horseflesh over a five-foot hurdle, short of using a forklift?”
He smiled and stepped closer to her, their shoulders touching, and she felt a tingle of excitement. “You have a point. Tell me more,” he said.
She let Eros sniff her palm then stroked his sleek black throat. “Ride him on the flat for a dozen or more loops around the ring. No jumps at all. Then walk him over a rail lying on the ground. After he’s comfortable with that, move up to a rail placed no more than four or five inches off the ground. Keep raising the height slowly, but don’t move him up until he takes the new level without hesitation. If it takes weeks, fine. Don’t push him.”
Phillip nodded slowly. “It sounds logical. You’ve used this technique before with other horses?”
“Zillions!” She smiled when Eros playfully nuzzled her cheek. And now, she thought, time for lunch. She couldn’t get enough of the wonderful Mediterranean seafood found all over the island.
But Phillip had other ideas. “Let’s get him saddled.”
“What?” She stared at him apprehensively.
“No time like the present. Besides, you yourself said you won’t be here for long. I want to take advantage of your expertise.”
“But I’m sure your own trainer—”
“He hasn’t succeeded yet, and I don’t want to take the chance that Eros might connect Marco with whatever originally spooked him. He seems to like you. Maybe a woman’s touch is what he needs.”
“I haven’t brought riding gear,” she objected.
“There’s plenty you can use in the tack room. Just down there.” He pointed. “I keep spare boots, crops and such for guests. What shoe size do you take?”
“Six, American,” she said wearily.
“I’m sure there’s something that will fit you. Go along. I’ll get him ready for you.”
Great, she thought glumly a moment later as she pulled riding breeches over her casual shorts and wedged her feet into leather riding boots. What was she going to do now? She could confess to Phillip Kinrowan that she had lied to him and wasn’t who she claimed to be. But that would be humiliating. She didn’t care if he was angry, but she wouldn’t be laughed at.
Or she could call his bluff and ride Eros. And risk breaking your neck by doing so, a little voice inside her warned.
But the timid jumper had seemed as gentle as a lamb in his stall. Sure, Thoroughbreds were unpredictable and their moods could change without warning. But she knew how to handle a basic trot around a ring or a walkover exercise, and that was all she was going to do. She’d explain to Phillip that pressing the horse to take a jump of any height today would be premature and could permanently ruin him for competition. What owner would take that risk?
Alex grinned. She could do this. No sweat. Then on to bouillabaisse!
Phillip cinched up Eros’s saddle, talking comfortingly to him all the while. “She weighs hardly more than a feather, old man. You won’t feel her. And you saw how nice she was, right? Pretty woman like that, she’d never do anything to hurt you. Just relax and take her for a little spin around the ring, and let me enjoy the view, huh? Do that for me?”
It seemed almost too good to be true, Alex’s advice. He wondered why such common sense hadn’t occurred to him or Marco. So simple. Start from the beginning. But she was obviously well experienced. He was excited to see how Alex would handle Eros. The horse was spirited, true, but he had been a well-mannered mount until the day he started refusing jumps.
Phillip walked Eros into the yard, toward the largest of the training rings. Two of his stable boys were talking to a man he recognized as being from the royal court. He wondered if he’d been sent with a message for Alex and hoped there wasn’t a reason to take her back to the palace before they’d had time for a leisurely lunch. He was about to ask but Alex appeared, jogging across the yard, her cheeks prettily flushed.
“Is he ready?”
“He’s all yours,” Phillip said, handing over the reins to her. “Need a leg up?”
She shook her head, wedged a toe into a stirrup and lightly bounced once to propel herself up and into the English-style saddle. “Piece of cake.”
“So I see.” He chuckled. She really did look sexy up there astride the big horse. He hadn’t guessed wrong about that. “What’s next?”
“We won’t do much more than get to know each other,” she said. “Just cruise a couple of times around the ring. If he’s happy with that and wants more, I’ll step him across a few rails.”
“Signal me if you want them and I’ll set up for you,” he offered.
She nodded, clucked once at Eros and touched him lightly on his flank with her crop. He responded by walking smoothly toward the ring. Phillip watched as she moved Eros into a relaxed canter, sitting erect and easily on his back. They looked a perfect match, although he was a large horse for such a small woman. Still, temperaments often counted for more than size where horses were concerned.
“That’s quite an animal you have there,” a voice said, speaking in the local Italian dialect.
Phillip turned to face a man he recognized from Daniel’s court. He was reed thin, with a slightly receding hairline and a no-nonsense expression. “Yes. One of my favorites. I’m lucky to have come across such an experienced trainer at a time when I need one.”
“Oh? Who is that?”
Phillip tilted his head toward Alex. “She’s riding him now.”
There was a pause that Phillip read as confusion. He looked at the stranger. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing at all.” But the man seemed cautious of the words he chose next. “I’m Gregor Paulus. I was Prince Marc’s assistant, before the accident.” The two men shook hands. “I’m the one responsible for seeing to the comfort and travel arrangements of the American branch of the family and their staff while they’re on the island. I have a message from the palace for the, um, the trainer.”
“I hope she doesn’t have to rush back. I’ve promised her lunch,” Phillip explained.
Paulus smiled. “That’s very good of you, sir. No, there’s no rush.”
“Perhaps I can give her the message?” Phillip asked.
“It’s of a personal nature…from her family in the States. I’ll just go back up to the house, if that’s all right, and wait until she’s finished.”
“We won’t be long,” Phillip promised, then turned back to Alex.
“He’s doing great!” she called out.
“I can see that.” Phillip waved then grinned at the beautiful picture before him—woman and horse, moving in fluid motion as one.
“Ready for a step-over?” he called on her next loop.
“Sure, why not?” She beamed at him, looking
as if she were thoroughly enjoying herself.
Phillip ducked through the fence and walked into the ring. He moved two rails from jump supports down to the ground, leaving nothing for Eros to clear above three inches. An easy step-over, just as Alex had described. Then he moved out of the way and leaned casually against the inside of the fence to watch.
Eros slowed as he approached the rails lying on the ground. Alex gently guided him over them. She leaned down to whisper in the horse’s ear and hugged him around the neck. “Good job, boy.” She waved at Phillip. “Once more?”
“Go for it.” He gave her a thumbs-up for encouragement, then watched, transfixed, as Eros and his lovely rider made five more loops around the ring.
Alex was thrilled with herself. Her plan was working! Nothing to this training business, she thought. “Let’s try a low jump!” she shouted at Phillip.
“Do you really think he’s ready?” Phillip frowned. The last time Eros had balked with him in the saddle, he’d barely been able to hang on.
“Sure,” she said. “I think he’s up to a little challenge now. Set the jump low—just two feet off the ground.” Since even a beginning jumper could easily clear four feet, this would be a piece of cake.
Phillip shrugged. After all, Alex was the pro and must know what she was doing. He walked to the middle of the ring and set the pole in the second notch from the ground. Eros’s hoofbeats as he rounded the far curve of the ring accompanied Phillip as he returned to the gate, where he stood to watch. He studied Alex’s face as she and her mount came around the bend and faced the jump.
Something stubborn and proud was reflected in her expression. She bit down on her bottom lip, leaned forward to say something in Eros’s ear, then brought the huge animal into a smooth gallop. It was at that moment he saw the flicker of fear in Eros’s dark eyes as they rolled in a panic at the sight of the jump. Phillip was suddenly terrified for Alex.
The Royal & The Runaway Bride (Dynasties: The Connellys Book 7) Page 2
