by Ward, J. R.
4
WHEN SABBATH was tacked up, A.J. stood back and looked at him with satisfaction. She was the one who had fed him, groomed him and mucked out his stall. Her fingers had carefully fit the bridle and bit to his head. Her saddle was on his back and soon he would be carrying her weight. He was her horse. Hers alone.
And to top it off, all morning he’d been unbelievably compliant.
A.J. was falling for none of it.
This was why she put a martingale on him. The leather strap, which ran from his head to his barrel chest, and was anchored by the bridle and the girth, would hinder his ability to toss his head or rear. It was a common piece of equipment and likely one he was already familiar with.
So, when he decided to drop the act and start careening around the ring, she had half a chance, A.J. thought. Like wearing a seat belt in the car.
Hell, if they could fit him with an air bag, she’d have done it in a heartbeat.
Before A.J. took him out to the ring, she put on her pair of old leather chaps. When she’d bought them years before, they’d been a fawn-colored suede. Now, after countless hours in the saddle, they’d darkened to a rich brown and the nap was as smooth as cream. Belting them around her slim waist, she began to zip the leather down each leg so that her jeans were completely covered.
Devlin looked up from his musings, instantly losing his train of thought. The first thing he noticed was that her riding gear showed the mellow glow of age. Considering all her father’s wealth, he was surprised she hadn’t thrown spanking new tack all over the stallion or tied one of those nylon bridles to his head. Instead, the saddle on Sabbath’s back bore the marks of heavy use. It had originally been a very expensive piece of equipment, he granted, recognizing the lines of a famous saddler. But it’d been used hard and well and he couldn’t help approving of the way someone had cared for it. The leather was in prime condition, as supple as it was strong, and it sure wasn’t the saddle of a pampered little rich girl. It was the equipment of a real rider who understood that the utility of fine tack increased over time if carefully tended.
His eyes then went to the chaps. Watching her put them on, he envied the leather as it wrapped itself around her thighs. The heat pooling in his gut made him grit his teeth and he found himself imagining what it would be like to have his hands traveling over her legs on the brass zipper.
Although if it were up to him, that zipper would be going up, not down, and her jeans would be the next thing to hit the floor.
Devlin tried to pull it together.
“You guys ready?” he asked.
“He sure seems ready to go somewhere, all right.”
The stallion was twitching with eagerness, knowing full well what the tack meant.
Seeing the horse saddled and pumped for a workout, recognizing the glint of anticipation in A.J.’s eye, Devlin realized he hadn’t had a horse readied to go in his barn in almost a year. With an ache in his solar plexus, he felt what he’d lost acutely.
When A.J. looked at him and smiled, he said, “God, what I wouldn’t give to be where you are.”
Sabbath tossed his head, yanking at the crossties.
“You sure about that?” she blurted. “I’m tying my professional star to a loose cannon here.”
He watched her flush as she heard her own words.
“What am I saying?” she muttered, and then looked into his eyes with compassion. “Of course you want to be riding. God, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, getting to his feet. “Actually, it’s almost enough just to see your nervous excitement. All the possibilities of success and failure are dancing in your eyes.”
“You know, that’s how I feel right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen so I have the luxury of predicting success.” Sabbath stamped a hoof and she regarded him quizzically. “What’s the matter? Oh, the martingale strap’s turned around here.”
Devlin watched as she tended to the stallion, and found himself hoping she appreciated the moment. He hadn’t when he’d been in her place. Too busy trying to accomplish his goals, he’d never appreciated that the pursuit of them was just as important as the winning. The toil and grind were so much of what he’d enjoyed about his life, he realized now, and seeing A.J.’s passion reminded him of it all.
How ironic, Devlin thought, that it took the well going dry for him to realize how much he liked pushing water uphill.
When A.J. was finished making the adjustment, she grabbed her helmet and freed Sabbath from the crossties. As she led the stallion out into the cool fall breeze, the horse began to prance, his hooves doing a soft-shoe on the gravel path that led to the ring. Thrashing his head, he flared his nostrils as he breathed in the scents of early October and primed his blood for the work ahead.
“He’s a live wire, isn’t he?” Devlin said, tucking his clipboard under his arm and picking up his cane.
“With itchy feet.”
The three of them walked to the ring.
A.J. halted Sabbath and put on her helmet as Devlin shut the gate behind them. The ring was about half the size of a football field, an oval formed by interlocking rails that was filled with loose dirt and open to the elements. It was spacious, even with the jumps taking up the bulk of the middle. There was plenty of room for her to exercise the stallion around the perimeter and to use the avenues between jumps to work on changing strides and shifting directions.
In the center, some fifteen jumps were set up at regular intervals in combinations and as stand-alones. Constructed mainly of brightly colored rails, every one was in the pristine condition she’d come to expect from Devlin’s equipment. They were set in a variety of types and heights, providing excellent opportunity for her to get comfortable riding the stallion over the hurdles they’d confront in competition.
It was a jumper’s paradise.
And the stallion’s blood was running hot as he looked around at his new playground. The horse knew what he was going to be doing and his eyes held the relish of a warrior facing a worthy opponent. Impatient footwork and fervent whinnies told A.J. he was ready to get started.
Not yet, Flash Gordon, she thought.
First, they’d have to get through some flatwork. Less exciting by far than galloping over fences, it was a critical part of training. Working together in the various gaits, she and the stallion would have a chance to get to know each other better as well as warm up before the more strenuous part of the workout.
Devlin asked, “Need a leg up?”
“Thanks,” she said, and took Sabbath’s reins over his head, holding them in her left hand. She put her other hand on the back of the saddle and lifted her left leg, waiting for Devlin to boost her up.
He stepped in behind her, bringing his body close to hers. As he bent down and touched her lower leg, he smelled again the subtle lavender scent in the waves of hair tied at her neck. He couldn’t help wondering if her skin would smell the same.
The training, he reminded himself as he touched her ankle. You’re here for the training.
A.J. was caught off guard by the sensation of his hand on her leg, and then she was plucked from the ground and up on the stallion’s back. She felt the saddle come under her and Sabbath shift his weight but it was the way Devlin’s hand lingered on her calf that she focused on.
“You settled up there?”
“Yup,” she croaked.
A.J.’s stomach lurched as she watched him go to the center of the ring. She was wondering what color his eyes were when he made love and had to bite her lip to keep from cursing aloud in sexual frustration.
The only color she had to worry about was brown—the color of the dirt she was going to eat if she didn’t pay attention. She was on an unfamiliar horse who was known for trouble and if she wasn’t on top of her game, she was going to get thrown. Just then, Sabbath threw his head up and pawed at the ground, as if to emphasize her point.
Good thing they were going to warm up slowly, she thought, struggling to rein him in.
A little easy flatwork was about all she felt up to at the moment.
The stallion had other plans.
Just as she leaned down to check the martingale’s fit one last time, still dwelling on Devlin, the horse’s keen sense of timing kicked in. He knew that her shifting weight meant she was distracted and he used it to his best advantage. Half rearing on his hind legs, he kicked out for the center of the ring, flashing toward a jump at breakneck speed.
A.J. had to think fast. She regained her balance on instinct alone, narrowly saving herself from being thrown by Sabbath’s powerful surge. With lightning speed, the stallion’s massive chest and hindquarters were eating up yards of ground and she had to quickly assess where he was so hell-bent on taking them. Looking at the approaching fence, she had no doubt they could handle it but he was fresh out of the stall and she didn’t want him to get injured. More important, she had to teach him he couldn’t fly out from the bit and take off anytime the mood struck him.
Throwing her body deep into the saddle, A.J. used her weight to push into the stirrups and draw back on the reins like she was trying to uproot an oak stump. The stallion’s thundering hooves slowed down some and she seized the opportunity to shift herself to one side. The change in balance derailed his course so he missed the jump and came to a sputtering prance at the far end of the ring.
It all happened so fast that Devlin would have missed the defection except for the sound of pounding hooves. Glancing up at the noise, he saw the towering black horse lunge forward and he watched for A.J.’s reaction, knowing that it would tell him more about her skills as a rider than he’d learn in a week of structured training. Instead of becoming flustered by the unexpected, she focused and reeled the horse in without being too hard on his mouth or injuring either one of them. It was the measured response of a real pro and Devlin felt relief. When a horse bolts, all the training in the world couldn’t help a rider with poor instincts. In the saddle of an out-of-control animal, a rider either had the right impulses or suffered from their lack by hitting the ground.
The woman’s instincts were good.
And she was going to need them, he thought, walking over to the pair.
“Good defensive riding,” he said.
A.J. heard the approval in his voice and warmed to it. “Well, we know one thing. He’s strong and fast.”
“Great timing, too.”
Sabbath was fidgeting under her, impatient. She held his head firmly with the reins.
“I should have been more prepared.”
“You did fine. It was inevitable he’d try something.”
Devlin smiled at her and she felt optimistic. The horse was every bit as athletic as she’d hoped and her trainer was showing real promise as an ally. So what if the former just tried to toss her like a football and she was completely attracted to the latter? Even though her half-cocked decision had cost her a lot of money and an argument with her family, she thought things might just work out all right.
Sabbath whinnied and threw his head, hooves pawing at the air.
Or maybe not, she thought, getting him under control again.
“Now that he’s made his point about being a rebel,” Devlin said, meeting the stallion’s eyes evenly, “let’s see what happens when he’s asked to behave.”
A.J. nodded and directed Sabbath to the perimeter of the ring, keeping his stride at a trot. He fought her for his head with every footfall and she began to feel like she was in a tug-of-war. The stallion was testing her strength, assessing her determination. She just hoped he’d get over it before her arms were stretched so far her knuckles dragged on the ground.
Devlin watched as she let the horse work out his initial enthusiasm at being in the ring. Her hands were firm but gentle and she sat up in the saddle with the comfort and poise of a natural. Together, the two looked good, even though it was their first time together and the horse was pulling at the bit like the reins were made of taffy. The stallion’s height and obvious strength meant he carried A.J.’s long body with ease and her calm confidence was the right match for his itchy high-stepping.
They just seemed to fit.
He thought of Mercy and, to avoid his feelings, he began calling out gait and directional changes. A.J. and the stallion spent the next hour going through a gradually escalating workout. When he was satisfied with their efforts, Devlin called them to the center of the ring.
A.J.’s smile was as blinding as the afternoon sun. “Isn’t he wonderful!”
“He has his good moments but there’s a lot of work ahead of us. That horse has his own ideas of how things should go and he’s got to learn to be more disciplined.”
“On the bright side, he hasn’t tried to ditch me for over an hour.”
“He puts up quite a fight, doesn’t he?”
She nodded.
“How’s he feel?”
“Smooth as water,” A.J. said, taking her helmet off and brushing some hair from her face. “It’s like swimming. As long as he isn’t fighting with me.”
As he looked at her, Devlin realized he loved watching her move. There was something innately fluid about her strength, something womanly and totally appealing. She might be lean but she was tough and resilient and yet still very feminine.
He smiled. “When he hits his stride, he’s quite a looker from ringside.”
And the horse wasn’t the only appealing thing to look at, he thought.
A.J. grinned down at him as she replaced the velvet helmet. “Maybe he just gets bored easily.”
“Then let’s give him something to think about.”
Devlin held up his clipboard and described a course of jumps. His sequence started with some straightforward uprights of low height and increased in difficulty. The most challenging of the group was an oxer combination. Each single oxer was made up of three upright rail fences that gradually got higher and tested height as well as distance. A combination meant that there were two or more of the same jumps separated by a single stride between them.
“I would have you try the water jump but I didn’t have time to fill it,” he said. “If Chester comes, he’ll get it set up.”
“Chester?”
“An old friend,” Devlin replied, and changed the subject.
A.J. shrugged off her curiosity and asked for some clarification on distance and strides. He answered her questions and told her what he was looking for. Each jump was a test of a particular skill, either for her or the horse, and she was impressed with his thinking.
Harebrained scheming aside, one thing was clearly in her favor, she thought, turning the horse around. Her trainer sure as hell knew what he was doing.
A.J. set Sabbath into a light canter at the rail and they approached the first fence tensely, both battling over the reins. Sabbath won and took his head, galloping over the simple upright with a huge leap and clearing it with far too much room to spare. They landed like a sack of oranges hitting the floor. Charging around the ring, the round went from bad to worse, and by the time they cleared the final oxer, A.J. felt like she’d been in a paint mixer.
When she directed the stallion over to Devlin, she felt defeated, ready for his criticism. “So much for smooth as water. I think my molars are loose. That was a travesty.”
A.J. frowned as she saw his expression. “Why on God’s green earth are you smiling?”
“He’s a temperamental giant. And he’s rough around the edges but he’s got a great stride and he’s fast as a hot rod. He could be one of the great ones.”
“Are you out of your mind?” she said, her arms feeling like noodles from fighting the stallion’s mouth. “I might as well have been on the ground doing commands in semaphore for all he listened to me.”
“We can teach him to pay attention to you.” Devlin’s hazel eyes were rapt. “What we can’t do is motivate him. This horse is thirsty to feel air under his hooves and he’s taking these fences like they’re flat as mud puddles.”
“I think it’s a case of too much air bet
ween the ears,” she muttered. “He takes his head all the time. I’m just luggage on his back.”
“That’s what training’s for.” Devlin nodded to the jumps. “Now do it again.”
It was growing dim by the time A.J. put her saddle away in the tack room and paused to watch Sabbath munch on some hay in his stall. Her arms were numb, her hands were throbbing and she felt the beginnings of a headache. It was as though she’d been on a speeding train all afternoon and, even though her feet were now on solid ground, she still thought she was moving.
So much for a strong start, she thought, arching her back and feeling nothing but aches and stiffness.
The rest of the jumping hadn’t gone much better than the first round and the afternoon had been a blur of wild leaping and hard landings. As she lamented the session, she decided there was nothing like reality to get in the way of a fantasy. It looked as if a good round in the training ring was what she should be shooting for, to hell with winning a championship.
A.J. sensed Devlin’s approach.
“You did good work today,” he said, standing in the stable’s doorway.
She turned, not bothering to hide her disappointment, and found some relief. Beyond his wide shoulders, the sun was settling over undulating green hills. Its liquid gold light spilled across the grass and drifted into the stable’s interior like honey. She could smell the sweet perfume of fresh hay and hear the reassuring grinding of Sabbath’s teeth. But more than all that, there was a tenderness in Devlin’s eyes that went further to replenish her spirit than any words he could have offered.
As she faced him, Devlin knew he was looking at someone whose energy was spent. There was a pall of fragility hanging from her, as if she were on the verge of shattering. Not that he blamed her. He knew only a handful of riders who would have been up to the task of tackling that black beast’s headstrong ways all afternoon.
