by Ward, J. R.
“I don’t want to lose him,” Devlin muttered. “Mercy was bad enough but him as well?”
A.J. stroked his shoulder as he leaned forward.
“He’s the closest thing to a father I’ve got,” he said.
She sensed that, in the midst of the nightmare, he wanted to talk. “How long have you known him?”
“Years and years and years. He was my first boss. The first adult I ever listened to. He taught me how to be a man.” Devlin pushed a hand through his hair. “God knows, there was no one else around willing or able to. I never knew my own father.”
“Your mother raised you?”
“No. I had a series of foster parents, was bounced around every couple of years. No one wanted to adopt an older kid, particularly after I got in some trouble.”
“How did you get orphan—” She flushed, not wanting to add any pressure. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
“That’s okay.” He flexed his arms and brought his hands together in a bridge. Resting his chin on them, he mused, “My past is as good a distraction as any.”
After a long moment, he said, “According to my file, my mother was seventeen, unmarried and alone when she died giving birth. No one came forward to claim me. My father had deserted her in the middle of the pregnancy and I guess her parents were horrified at their daughter’s indiscretions. Didn’t want evidence of a moral lapse kicking around their house.”
“Your grandparents just let you go?”
Devlin nodded.
“Once, when I was sixteen, I looked them up. An old man with eyes like mine shut the door in my face after telling me never to come back.” He leaned back in the plastic chair. “Growing up, I acted out a lot. Got arrested a few times for stealing. Never graduated from high school, and college wasn’t even on the radar screen. When I left the system, I had nothing to do, nowhere to go and was mad as hell with everyone and everything. At the age of eighteen, I was wandering around aimlessly, trying to make enough money to feed myself, when I showed up at a stable, looking to groom. I don’t know why I thought they’d take me in. I’d never been around horses before.”
Devlin’s smile was sad. “That’s when I met Ches and he saved my life. After I walked up a long, dusty drive to the stable, he was the first person I met. I don’t know what he saw in me but he took one look at me and said, ‘Boy, I’m gonna take care of you.’ And he did. He always has.”
A.J. was enthralled by what he was revealing. It was all the intimate details she’d wanted to know, all the things that articles on him hinted about but never quite got right. She felt an overwhelming compassion for him, for everything he’d been through, as she imagined how hard his early life had been. How alone he must have felt as he went from home to home, always as an outsider. How much Chester’s love must have meant to him. How incredible his journey to the top echelons of the sport was.
“When did you start riding?”
“About two weeks after I arrived. One of the Thoroughbreds, a champion jumper, was being led into the barn after a workout. I looked up from the manure I was shoveling and told the rider the horse was lame. The guy brushed me off like dirt but Chester came forward, checked the leg and backed me up. Turned out the mare had a hairline fracture in her foreleg.
“Later, Chester asked how I knew and I said I just did. Then he wanted to know if I’d ever been up on a horse. I said no but I’d like to give it a try. An hour later, I was in the ring.” He looked at her. “Everything I’ve done coaching you comes from him. He’s the master at it and could have been famous but he never was inclined to tip his hand to the talent. He’s always been a free spirit, never wanted to be tied down. I was the only one he ever trained.”
“Then he certainly was a success, wasn’t he?”
Devlin shrugged. “He taught me to channel my anger into winning. That and my natural knack for riding did the trick.”
She smiled gently. “I know it took a lot more work than that.”
“But it isn’t work to do something you love.”
“No, you’re right. It isn’t.”
They shared a moment of understanding.
“After my accident, after Mercy was put down, Ches understood that I needed to be alone. He always said he’d be back. I never believed him. That’s one of the reasons you’re so special to me,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand. “You came into my life and opened everything up. And you’re the only one other than Chester that I’ve felt I could trust.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. It was a bare whisper of contact, a soft sliding of their mouths, a vow full of love.
A.J. felt him squeeze her hand and then watched as he leaned his head back and shut his eyes as if he were exhausted. She stared at him for a long time, rerunning parts of the conversation back in her head. She was deeply affected by what he’d said and had the sense that a lot of it had never been revealed to anyone before.
Eventually, she glanced up at the TV and noted the soap opera was still droning on. She tried to remember the name of the series. Wings of Faith?
No, that wasn’t it.
She watched the characters parade around in glamorous clothes, gesticulate wildly, occasionally kiss or slap one another, and found she was able to keep up with the stories even without the sound. Every now and again, she’d come back to reality as someone in a doctor’s coat or nurse’s uniform would cut through the room. Most of the time, the medical staff just walked over to the vending machine. The sound of metal clinks as change was dropped in the slot and the whirling noise as food was kicked off the reserve bench became all too familiar.
She turned back to the soap. Damned if she could recall the name.
Wings of Fortune?
After a time, Devlin stretched, got up and went to the nurses’ station like a man on an expedition into the wilderness. He returned minutes later, empty-handed. A.J. looked away so he wouldn’t see her disappointment.
Up above, the soap came to a finale, with some woman putting white powder into a man’s cocktail. The closing credits read, Wings of Fate.
Over the next several hours, she and Devlin were joined and deserted by the families of other patients. People came and went, the cast of characters in the room changing and yet remaining the same. Everyone was going through a similar loss of control, desperately waiting for an answer, some news, some kind of hope. And none of them knew who was going to get their life back and who was never going to be the same again.
Finally, after she’d decided her butt was so numb it would never regain feeling, one of the white coats called out Chester’s name. She and Devlin leapt to their feet, the room dissolving away as they searched the doctor’s face for clues.
He was too young to be making life-and-death decisions, A.J. thought at first. Then she saw that his eyes were very old behind delicate, gold-wire glasses.
“Are you the family?” the physician asked with a heavy Southern accent.
“Is he all right? What’s going on?” Devlin demanded.
“You’re Devlin and A.J.?”
They nodded.
“We think we know what the problem is. Come with me.
Following their white coat redeemer from the hell of the waiting room, they went through Star Trek doors into the real hustle and bustle of the emergency department. Rushing around, everyone seemed to know where they were going and, compared with the stillness of where Devlin and A.J. had been, the urgency was overwhelming but reassuring.
The physician led them over to one of the treatment bays, which was sectioned off by thick white curtains to provide privacy. They braced themselves for what was on the other side.
When the drapery was pushed aside, they stopped dead.
Chester was sitting up and smiling, as chipper and alert as a daisy.
“For chrissake,” he said, “don’t just stand there. One a’ them nurses might see me in this getup an’ be overcome by m’ physical attractions.”
As they went to his b
edside, A.J. didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In spite of the tubes coming out of his body and all the machines whirling around him, the man looked fine. His color was back and his eyes were free of the terrifying opaqueness of pain. She promptly burst into tears, having prepared herself for everything but the man’s being all right.
Chester and the doctor looked at her awkwardly. Devlin put an arm around her, holding her tight.
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
The doctor began to explain, using medical terms that didn’t register.
“Cajun gumbo got me a good one,” Chester interrupted, grinning.
“What?” Devlin pegged the doctor with a stare.
“In plain English, gastric distress.”
“Indigestion? As in the plop, plop, fizz, fizz variety?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. He suffers from acid reflux that—”
“M’ crawfish backed up on me.” Chester shot them all a cheeky grin as Devlin laughed out loud with relief.
“Actually, it is a real concern,” the doctor said. “He’s got to change his eating habits or this will happen again. His cholesterol is too high and he’s not as young as he thinks he is. He needs to cut back on his physical labor and eat better.”
“I told you this was going to happen.” Devlin was shaking his head. “All that hot, spicy food finally caught up with you. Just because you stick with the bland stuff for breakfast doesn’t mean you can go hog wild in the afternoon.”
“Bland food?” the doctor said.
“Long story,” Chester mumbled.
Devlin took the time to fill in the details. When he was finished, the physician was dumbfounded and the patient was looking sheepish.
“Mr. Raymond, why didn’t you tell me all this?”
“Didn’t think it really mattered.”
“You need to see a nutritionist.” The man scribbled on a piece of paper. “Here is a prescription-strength antacid and the name of someone who can work with you on that diet of yours.”
“Why do I need a nutritionist?”
“Sir, I’ve heard a lot of stories but your eating habits are right up there with the best of them. Call me if you need anything.”
With a nod to A.J. and Devlin, the doctor left.
“Don’t see why I need to go see someone about what I choose to put in my face,” Chester grumbled.
“You catch the MD after the guy’s name?” Devlin said. “It doesn’t stand for Me Dummy. If it did, you’d have the initials after yours.”
A.J. reached for Chester’s rough, worn hand. It felt like shoe leather and gripped hers back tightly. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“I didn’t mean to worry the two a’ you.”
“Well, you sure as hell did,” Devlin told him gruffly. “We’ve been out of our wits.”
“Listen, I ain’t leavin’ you yet, boy,” Chester said emotionally.
“Thank God for that. I’m not ready to let you go.”
Wiping his eyes in the crook of his elbow, Chester cleared his throat. “So, can we unplug me and get me outta here? I’d justa soon have this all behind me and forget about it.”
“There’s going to be no forgetting about this. Things are going to change,” Devlin warned.
“Now, wait a minute. I don’t need no keeper.”
“Do what the doctor said and you won’t have one.”
“What the hell does he know? He looks like a paperboy.”
“Who’s the one who ended up in the ambulance?”
“Just checkin’ out the interior. Always wanted to know what the inside a’ one looked like.”
Just then, a nurse swept aside the curtain.
“You ready to go home?” she asked with a reassuring smile.
“We’ll go wait outside,” Devlin said, his arm going around A.J.’s shoulders.
“I’ll tell ya one thing,” Chester said as the nurse went to work. “I’m never mixin’ shellfish an’ pineapple upside-down cake again.”
It was a serious undertaking to wedge everyone into the convertible with the top up. A.J. had to move her seat forward as far as it could go to give Devlin any legroom as he squeezed into the back. Hunched over the steering wheel, she found driving difficult but at least Chester was comfortable up front. He liked it so much, he announced that he was going to invest in a chauffeur with his bingo money.
By the time they pulled up to the man’s small home, which was buried in the woods not far from the farmhouse, night had fallen. Devlin tried his best to con Chester into staying with them for a while but the man refused.
“Can we at least bring you dinner?” A.J. asked.
Chester shook his head. “I’ve got some chicken soup and saltines. Think I’m goin’ to take it easy tonight.”
“Wise idea. You may want to stick with white food for a week or so.”
“I was thinking the right same thing.” Chester got out of the car and Devlin walked him to the door. An argument ensued.
“Don’t bother showing up to work tomorrow.”
“Don’t be tellin’ me what to do. I don’t curry no favor over bossy types.”
“If that were true, you and I would have parted ways years ago.”
“I only make an exception for you a’cause ya need me so badly.”
“I’ll grant you that, but don’t change the subject. You’re taking a few days off.”
“One.”
“Several.”
“One.”
Devlin cursed.
“You ain’t winnin’ this round, boy. Now go take your woman home.”
A.J., who could hear them through the open car door, smiled at the words as she waved good night to Chester. When Devlin came back and sat down in the passenger seat, he gave her a long, appreciative look.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked as they headed home.
“I like the idea of being your woman.”
She felt his hand caress her thigh. “So do I.”
They were pulling up in front of the barn when she asked, “Does Chester do anything other than play bingo once a week?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“He seems lonely. I hate leaving him there by himself after all he went through today.”
“He’s a loner by nature. Always has been. I think he likes the peace and quiet.”
“Well, maybe he needs to expand his horizons.”
Over dinner, they traded riding stories and reminisced about horses they’d known. After cleaning up, they sat down on the couch in front of a crackling fire. It was as enjoyable an evening as A.J. had ever had, one that was free from worry and marked by loving touches and glances full of meaning. For several hours, she didn’t think of the Qualifier or her arm or Sabbath, just reveled in their love for each other.
Her concerns returned the next morning. With the dawn’s arrival, she felt the heavy weight of her goal settle on her shoulders once again. Lying next to Devlin, she began to fidget, feeling trapped between wanting to spend all day in bed with him and being uneasy and anxious to get to work.
“You’re like a live wire this morning,” he said.
“Sorry. I’m just thinking about Sabbath.”
“What about him?”
“Well, he’s terrified of water, right? It makes me think about all his other quirks and things he doesn’t like.”
“Like eating alone.”
“Loud noises.”
“The blacksmith,” they said together.
A.J. propped her head up on her hand. “I’ll bet if we knew more about his history, we might be able to understand him better. I’m going to do a little digging. Find out where he came from, try to figure out where this all started. He can act badly but he’s not a bad horse. I just hope he wasn’t…”
“You’re worried he was abused?”
“I’m trying to think of some other explanation for all of his problems. I’m hoping there’s another reason.”
After a quick bre
akfast, they left the farmhouse. Devlin headed out into the ring to adjust the jumps and A.J. started grooming the stallion. Without Chester’s help, it took longer than usual to get Sabbath tacked up and ready, especially with her arm hurting as it did. Despite taking several Motrin, which she’d swallowed as soon as Devlin had gone downstairs to make breakfast, she found lifting a saddle onto the stallion’s back difficult.
Riding him proved more arduous. Even though they had a good session, A.J. was in agony. With every leap into the air, and through the dozens of hard landings, she had to bite her lip to keep from yelping. To hide her distress, she took to avoiding Devlin’s eyes for fear he’d read her discomfort.
As they led Sabbath back to the stable, she tried to discuss the day’s work but by then her arm was throbbing. When Devlin offered to help groom the stallion, she saw the simple courtesy as a lifesaver. With him preoccupied with a curry brush, she had time to rush into the tack room and swallow two more pills. When she came back, he was putting a blanket on the horse.
“You ready to try some more work around the water?” he asked.
A.J. nodded, stripping off her chaps and then freeing Sabbath from the crossties. As she was leading the stallion out of the barn, Devlin stopped her.
“You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t need a rest?”
“We don’t have time for breaks,” she said brusquely, then tempered the words with a smile. “At least not until later tonight.”
His eyes grew sensuous. “Say, I don’t know if you’re aware of this but there happens to be some loose hay up in the loft.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Bet it’d be good to roll around in. Just in case we can’t wait to get up to the farmhouse.”
A.J.’s body flooded with heat. She glanced out at the jumps. “Let’s get going. The sooner we start—”
“The sooner we’re done,” he finished, dropping a lingering kiss on her lips.
In a hurry, A.J. led the stallion into the ring and then over toward the water. Immediately, he began to buck in fear and protest. Over and over, they approached and retreated, getting a little closer every time. Stroking his neck when she could and keeping her movements slow and reassuring, she put aside her physical pain and tried to calm him.
