by Ward, J. R.
What did their future hold? Was this just an affair? Or the beginning of something that meant so much more?
Head bent and eyes too rapt for the simple task, she didn’t know Chester had paused in the doorway until he cleared his throat. She looked up and was struck by his appearance. With a pitchfork in one hand and his overalls hanging like curtains on his whip-thin frame, he was right out of American Gothic. In that moment, standing in the late-afternoon sun, he was one pinpoint along a long chronology of farmers and laborers, a tradition worthy of pride.
He was timeless, she thought, just like the smell of lemon and leather in the room.
“Ya want to get the blacksmith here this week?” he asked.
A.J. wiped a lock of hair away with the back of her sponge hand. Water and soap ran down into her sleeve and she smothered a curse.
“I think we better. That right front shoe just won’t stay tight.”
“With it comin’ loose all the time, a body’s gotta wonder. I don’t know what goes on here after dark, but I think that horse has designs on bein’ the next Fred Astaire. At night, he’s gotta be tap dancin’ in the aisles, or something worse.”
“Jazz?” A.J. grinned.
“Vegas kick line.”
She laughed. “More likely his hooves are soft.”
“Believe what ya have to, but afore ya know it, he could be jumpin’ in high heels an’ a thong.”
A.J. smiled at the image, wiped off the last of the soap from her saddle and stood up.
“Let’s see if that poor man can get here the beginning of next week,” she said, referring to the blacksmith. “I’m hoping if we give him some notice, he’ll like us more. Probably use time to gird himself for the experience.”
“Good call. I imagine he’ll need to order appropriate equipment.”
“Better nails?”
“Hockey pads,” Chester said as he turned to go.
A.J.’s laughter rang out. “Hey, how long have I got before dinner?”
He checked his watch.
“’Bout twenty minutes. An’ speaking of time,” he said, “I’m glad you an’ Devlin finally got off your duffs. You two’ve been draggin’ your feet like a couple a’ wallflowers waitin’ for the right song.”
The rag hit the floor along with her composure. “What?”
“Life’s too short to not be where you should. You two are both missin’ a piece without the other.”
Oh, my God, she thought, I’ve got a scarlet A on my forehead.
Without realizing it, she rubbed the place over her eyebrows.
“I don’t know what you—”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. Devlin’s a good man and you’re good for him. Now, about that blacksmith—ya think Tuesday’s okay?”
After Chester left, A.J. plopped down on a box of leg wraps. Was it that obvious? She thought they’d been discreet all day long.
Damn these horse-sense types, she thought. You can’t have a steamy affair around them in peace.
Stomach clenched in a knot, she felt like her life was spiraling out of control. Between buying the horse, the split with her family, facing the Qualifier and falling for Devlin, it seemed as if she’d thrown herself into a paint mixer. Even worse, she had the notion that eyes were watching, everywhere.
She stood up, feeling trapped, and raised her voice. “Are you finished with me or is there anything else I need to worry about right now?”
Then she knocked the bottle of saddle soap over and it spilled into her barn boots.
Ah, yes, she thought. Now I need dry socks.
“Ask, and ye shall receive,” she muttered as she wiped up the mess.
When A.J. went back to the house, a soggy protest sounded out every time she put her right foot down. It was like being trailed by a whoopee cushion. As soon as she came in from the gathering cold, she shrugged off her coat and leaned against the door, removing the offending shoe and sock. When she glanced up, Devlin was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
And looking at her like she was his favorite entree.
Warming under the glow in his eyes, she decided she could get used to the expression.
Devlin took a step forward just as Chester leaned in from the kitchen and started a conversation. “We’re having the behemoth shod on Tuesday….”
The man continued talking even though his audience was far from captivated. With the reluctance of two people getting up from a good meal before it’s done, Devlin and A.J. stoked the fire between them for later.
“We’ll finish this soon,” he whispered before going into the kitchen.
With a blinding smile of anticipation, A.J. went upstairs to change.
As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing out her hair, she couldn’t help noticing the change in her reflection. There was a sparkle of excitement in her eyes, like she had a delicious secret, and a glow on her cheeks that wasn’t just windburn. Even to her jaundiced eye, she looked radiant.
Who needed to waste time with facials and makeovers when you could toss a little passion and chaos into your life and get the same effect?
After she washed up and changed her clothes, A.J. hit the stairs with far more enthusiasm than the mild hunger in her stomach justified. Following the down-home smell of meat loaf into the kitchen, she grinned as she saw Devlin bending over the stove and pumping a masher over a pot of potatoes like a jackhammer.
He looked up the instant she came through the door. “Almost ready. You want to ride shotgun on Chester’s salad?”
“Sure,” she said, pushing aside unexpected shyness.
Hearing Chester grunt in frustration, she went over to the other man, who wasn’t having a lot of luck with a pile of fresh greens and vegetables. Wielding a knife with all the finesse of a backhoe trying to put pansies into the ground, he’d made a mess. Huge chunks of red peppers had fallen victim to his hacking and a misbegotten cucumber looked like it’d been mauled by a dog.
“How you doing there, chef?”
“Damn vegetables,” he said while almost slicing off his finger. “Who the hell needs roughage anyway? Do I look like a damn rabbit?”
“No, you look like a madman. And I think the last thing we need in your hand is a knife,” she said, nudging him aside.
“Ah, c’mon, now,” Chester grumbled good-naturedly. “I’m a pussycat.”
“Tell that to this pepper,” A.J. said, picking up the gnarled carcass. “It looks like it’s been in an accident.”
Before long, they were all sitting down at the table. The food was good but A.J. didn’t really taste it. She was too preoccupied with what awaited on the other side of the meal and Devlin’s eyes flashing across the table egged on her impatience, making her wish dinner was over before it started.
Seemingly oblivious of the undercurrents around him, Chester prattled along, keeping up the conversation by himself. When he wasn’t talking, he was lingering over each mouthful, pausing to savor his meal in a way his two companions had never seen him do before.
By the time the man cleared his plate, after his third helping, he thought the other two were so itchy they looked like a pair of kids in church. A.J. was pushing a bit of meat loaf around her plate like it was a soccer ball, and Devlin was stacking and unstacking the salt and pepper shakers with an urgency Chester found highly amusing.
The groom smiled broadly, an expression they both missed.
“That was a good meal,” he said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his meager stomach, satisfied with the angst he was stirring up.
“Yes, it was,” Devlin blurted, getting to his feet like there was something on fire in the oven. A.J. leapt out of her chair, picking up plates from the table in a frenzy.
“What, no dessert?” Chester asked.
“Here,” Devlin said, wheeling around and opening the freezer door. He tossed an ice-cream sandwich across the room with an air of desperation.
“Maybe I’ll just help with the cleanup,” the groom drawle
d while he unwrapped the paper carefully.
“Wouldn’t hear of it,” Devlin told him.
“You’re a guest,” A.J. said, picking up Chester’s plate.
“So are you,” the man quipped. After he polished off the dessert, he began folding his napkin with the precision of an engineer. “I should probably pitch in somehow—”
“No!” they both said, freezing over the sink.
Before the chorus of denials continued into another refrain, Chester laughed out loud. When his jacket materialized in front of him and he was bid a sturdy good night, he felt like he’d been bootlicked through a doggie door, but didn’t mind. He’d had enough fun at their expense for one night.
As the man stepped out into the cold air, he paused to zip up his jacket. When he turned around and glanced back at the house, he saw through the window that Devlin and A.J. were entwined in an embrace, oblivious of the world.
His smile as he turned away was one of approval. Devlin was looking more and more like his old self. And that girl, well, she was pretty as a picture and had the stuffing to take him on. It was a good match, he decided.
Betcha those dishes won’t be done till the morrow, he thought.
9
IT WAS a week later that A.J. rolled over in Devlin’s bed and realized she was in love with him. Coming out of a wistful dream, something about riding Sabbath through Virginia’s best hunt country, she felt very male arms wrapped around her and the cushion of a sturdy chest against her back. She turned over slowly, careful not to wake him.
In the gray light of the early-morning hour, his face was a study in strong shadows, from the hollows in his cheeks and the deep sockets of his eyes to the arching iron of his jaw. He was beautiful, a sublime model of masculine form, a living, breathing dream.
And with the deepest, most feminine part of herself, she knew he was hers. Just as she was his. Their hearts and minds had come together. They’d become so close, she wasn’t sure where he left off and she took over and she didn’t care about her lost individuality. She was half of herself without him, more than her whole with him.
A.J. put her lips against his throat, over the thick vein that pounded with the beat of his heart. Against his surging blood, she whispered, “I love you.”
It was the first time she’d ever said the words to a man.
This realization made the statement seem even more powerful.
When it came to men, she’d never given herself easily. There had been a few boyfriends in college, but she’d been so focused on riding, the relationships had been brief and casual. The trend had continued as she’d turned professional. Before Devlin, men had always seemed an unnecessary complication in a life long on challenges and squat on time. But he was different. Her heart told her so.
Given her lack of experience with romance, she found the confidence with which she could say, “I love you,” surprising. In previous relationships, she’d never been able to return the sentiment. She hadn’t been sure what love was, only that she didn’t feel it. Now it was clear. What else was so thrilling, so frightening, so intoxicating, so precious, so overwhelming, as love?
Part of her wanted to nudge Devlin awake and break the news but she held back. She was assuming he felt the same way but she wasn’t sure. She was ready to make a commitment to him, to their future together as life partners and professional allies, but her newfound love for him made her vulnerable. She wanted him to make the declaration out loud first.
A.J. stretched, feeling her legs slide against Devlin’s. He groaned in his sleep and gathered her even closer to him, tucking her into his side. As his breathing returned to the soft, regular rhythm of deep sleep, she found herself smiling, despite her heavy thoughts. There were so many benefits to being with him. Aside from their sensual exploits in the night, sleeping in a real bed again was another bonus. She hadn’t quite lost the appreciation of having some space to move around in at night, even though Devlin tended to take up more than his fair share of the bed. The couch had been good enough for a short stay but there was real luxury in being able to stretch out without running the risk of rolling onto the carpet and winding up under a coffee table.
Her smile didn’t linger. With a painful lurch, her thoughts drifted to her father. His birthday was the following weekend. She was dreading the idea of going and wished she could bring Devlin with her.
He began kissing her neck. “What are you stewing about?”
“How did you know?”
“I’m psychic.”
“Really?”
“Don’t tell anyone, but I moonlight as a fortune-teller.”
“So where’s your crystal ball?”
“Don’t need one. They’ve been replaced by a Web site with links to the other side.”
She laughed. “I guess the Internet’s everywhere.”
“Well, it was fine until Gates came in. Now there’s only one server you can channel Elvis on and a single search engine to find people’s past lives and dead relatives.”
When her giggles subsided, he asked again what was on her mind.
“What if I said I was just relishing the morning light?”
“You’d be lying.”
“What would you say if I asked you to go to my father’s birthday party next weekend? I know it’s going to be torture but I’d really like you to come with me. I need your support.”
He tilted his head down. “Then I can’t say no, can I?”
His smile was slow and tinted with passion, but when he went to kiss her, she stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Devlin, I need to know. Are you okay with this?”
“Sure. If it’s important to you for us to go, then of course we will.”
“No…I meant us.”
So much for waiting, she thought.
Devlin moved his hips against her pelvis. “I’m a little more than just okay with you. Fantastic. Delirious. Desperate. I think those are a little more apt.”
“I mean about continuing with our training.”
He took a deep breath. “I think we’re working together well. We’re making progress. What do you think?”
“I wasn’t the one who had a problem with it.”
His words became slow, deliberate. “From an objective point of view, I still believe it’s just not smart. But I can’t give you up and I don’t want anyone else training you, so I think we’re stuck with each other.”
A.J. smiled and kissed his lips. “I just knew you’d come around to my way.”
As his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she decided they could talk more about their relationship later. Now was a time for making love. And then there was breakfast and training and another meal or two. And then they could go back to bed together.
“I think we’re ready to try the water today,” Devlin said later as Sabbath was being tacked up on the crossties.
When A.J. nodded in agreement, Chester headed out to the ring to fill up the jump.
A little later, after she’d led the stallion out of the stables and gotten a leg up, A.J. noticed Sabbath was particularly antsy and sensed it was going to be a long training session. Unlike the horse, she was feeling sluggish. After she and Devlin had made love, she’d fallen back asleep, snoozing all the way through breakfast until she’d been woken up by her name being shouted up the stairs. It was obvious why she’d crashed. There was such relief in knowing Devlin was now committed to both her and their training. She felt as though they could now move ahead freely and that some of her bigger worries were behind her. Unfortunately, the consequence of her napping was that her reflexes were slow and she wasn’t riding as well as she usually did. The stallion sensed it. Unlike the last few sessions, when he’d settled down and begun to focus, now he acted up, resenting her lack of concentration.
When the flatwork was finished and A.J. brought the stallion toward him, Devlin toyed with the idea of calling it a day. Things hadn’t gone well in the warm-up and the rest of the session probably wasn’t going
to be much better. He was thinking it might be wise to hold off trying the water jump but A.J.’s face held a wealth of determination.
“You still ready to do the water?” he asked.
“You better believe it.”
Bringing up the clipboard, he detailed the jump order. “Just take it slow and easy. See how he handles it.”
She nodded, reining the stallion around.
Sabbath tossed his head, impatient to get jumping. He always perked up when they started going over fences but today his exuberance had an edge to it. When she urged him into a canter, she found herself having to hold him back.
They took the first two uprights in the rough form characteristic of their early training, and coming into the corner the stallion was shaking his head, fighting the lead change. They took the next series of oxers badly and rails hit the ground in their wake, a drumroll of failure. A.J. tightened her lips and the reins, feeling frustrated as she brought Sabbath around to face the water jump that was set up in the dead center of the ring.
It was an unassuming low rail fence followed by a square pool. The purpose was to test the horse’s ability to cover distance as well as his reaction to visual stimuli. Depending on the weather, the water could look relatively benign or very intimidating, as it did at the moment. In the gray morning, wind licked across the surface of the water, agitating the reflection of a dingy, cold sky.
As soon as Sabbath caught sight of what they were heading toward, A.J. could feel him tense. During the flatwork, they hadn’t used the middle of the ring, so it was the first time he’d noticed the jump. She gave him some encouragement with her leg and held steady, prepared for trouble. Surprisingly, he settled down and seemed to concentrate while continuing forward. For a split second, A.J. was lulled into relief, but then the stallion shied to the left so violently, she lost her seat and was thrown from him like a doll. It happened faster than a breath.
This one’s going to hurt, she thought in midair.
The ground rushed up to meet her with an eagerness she could have done without. Landing in a heap, she tasted dirt in her mouth and felt a shooting pain in her upper body. With a groan, she rolled over to free the arm that had taken the lion’s share of the impact, cradling it against her chest as she squinted up at the disinterested sky. She felt as if someone were needling her shoulder and elbow with a hot poker.
