Leaping Hearts

by Ward, J. R.

  After more than an hour, A.J. led the stallion out of the ring, feeling discouraged and exhausted. She put Sabbath into his stall and removed his halter and then Devlin came over with an armload of grass and dropped it over the door. They both stared ahead as the horse ate, the soft rustling of a muzzle against grass the only sound in the barn.

  A.J. was rolling her mother’s solitaire back and forth between her fingers when Devlin finally spoke.

  “You’ve got to slow down.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re exhausted.”

  “We worked hard today.”

  “You’re coming off a fall. You need to ease back into all of this.”

  “I don’t have that luxury,” she said softly. “I don’t have the time to take it easy.”

  “A.J., I know you’re focused on the Qualifier but you run the risk of burning out if you keep up this pace. I know you don’t want to hear this but I think you need to consider the bigger picture.”

  Her breath left in a rush. “That’s what I’m doing. There’s always a water jump at the Qualifier, along with a whole host of other things. The crowds, the noise, the other horses. Sabbath’s going to be beside himself. We need to prepare him—”

  “You’re not going to fix him in two months. No one could.”

  “But—”

  “And nobody wants you to hurt yourself trying. Especially me.” Devlin tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “Working yourself to the bone is not the answer.”

  “There’s just not enough time,” she said to herself.

  13

  LATER THAT afternoon, A.J. went up to Devlin’s study. Smiling at his organized but daunting stacks of paper, she took a seat in his creaky old wooden chair and settled in for some sleuthing by unfolding Sabbath’s bill of sale and pedigree. The prior owner’s name was one she recognized and she recalled him owning a stable located in Lexington, Kentucky. After some footwork with a phone operator, A.J. got the number and dialed. The gruff voice that answered didn’t inspire confidence.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Tarlow?” she asked. In the background, she could hear stable sounds like hooves clapping on concrete and whinnies echoing through a barn.

  “Hold on.” The phone was dropped, landing hard on something metal. The racket was still ringing in her ear when someone else got on the line.

  “Albert Tarlow here.”

  “This is A. J. Sutherland. I bought a Thoroughbred, Sabbath—”

  “The sale is final!”

  “I know, I know. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about him.”

  “What kind of questions?” He sounded suspicious, like a man being offered a package that was ticking.

  “About his background.”

  “I don’t know how much I can help you. I didn’t own him for all that long, although I must say he made a vivid impression.”

  “He tends to,” A.J. said wryly. “Were you aware of any problems he had with water?”

  “What didn’t he have problems with? He kicked up a fuss about the stall he was in, the riders, the trainers, his hooves—do you know he hates blacksmiths?”

  “Yes, but it was the water I wanted to—”

  “That horse went through three blacksmiths. He thought they were punching bags, I’m quite sure. Never seen anything like it and I’ve seen a lot of things.”

  “About the water—”

  The man interrupted her again, his voice wistful. “But that animal had so much potential. When he decided to jump, which wasn’t often, he was incredible. Are you having much luck with him?”

  “Some.”

  “You must have the patience of Job.”

  It was more Noah’s territory she was interested in, A.J. thought.

  “Mr. Tarlow, I specifically want to know if you tried to take him over any water jumps.”

  “Only once.” The man laughed grimly. “Planted one of my riders in the dirt so hard I thought we were going to have to dig the poor guy out. After that, I decided to sell the horse. Even if we could get him over the uprights and the oxers, which was a big if in my mind, I knew no one had a chance on his back over water. That horse put up such a stink over a six-inch-deep puddle, you’d swear it was out to get him.”

  “Did he have any trouble with hoses or wet ground?”

  “I do recall a groom turning the hose on him after a workout to help cool him down. That horse went crazy, and I mean really crazy. Trampled two of my men, tore out a pair of crossties like they were dental floss and ran around, dragging chains behind him, until he wore himself out. Nobody could catch him.”

  “How long did you own him?”

  “Only six months or so. It seemed like years.”

  “Who did you buy him from?”

  “My cousin picked him up for his own use and dumped him here when it became obvious the stallion was a handful. Always told Billy, you get what you pay for. He figured he’d gotten a deal but really he’d done the previous owner a favor by taking that animal off the man’s hands.”

  Just like you did for me, his tone said.

  “Any idea where your cousin got him?”

  “Don’t know that, although I think he’d been passed around a lot before Billy got him.”

  “Thanks so much,” A.J. said.

  “Good luck,” the man replied, hanging up.

  Looking over Sabbath’s pedigree, she found the name of his broodmare and her stable and was able to track the place down. Unfortunately, the manager couldn’t recall anything in particular about the stallion’s time as a colt. He’d been sold as a yearling to another stable, the name of which escaped the woman.

  Frustrated, A.J. leaned back in the chair, tapping a pen on the edge of the desk and trying to decide what she should do next. Offhandedly, she noticed a stack of bills in front of her and glanced at the top one. It was for the vet who’d come to check Sabbath’s leg after her fall. She picked it up and looked at the next one, which was from the feed store, and the next, which was from one of the blacksmiths they’d used. Then there was another from an insurance company, one from a tack shop and then a hardware store’s statement.

  She frowned as she added up the amounts. The total was staggering. Devlin had incurred thousands of dollars of debt in her behalf. Why hadn’t he told her?

  Then it dawned on her. She’d never paid him a cent. They’d agreed from day one she’d pay him a reasonable trainer and board fee but it had been well over a month and she hadn’t given him a thing. She resolved to write him a check.

  A.J. froze.

  And cover it with what? she wondered. All two hundred dollars in her bank account? Groaning, she thought about how poor she was.

  Buying Sabbath with her own money was the first independent thing she’d done in her life. She wouldn’t go back on the decision but it occurred to her that being headstrong wasn’t the same thing as being self-sufficient. Cutting that $30,000 check and walking away from Sutherland’s, letting go of her safety net and taking a long-overdue step toward adulthood, it had all been necessary. She just hadn’t thought out the financial particulars and now she was paying for it.

  Or not paying, as the case may be.

  As she confronted a stiff bill with a sagging wallet, she was determined to carry her own weight and not ask Devlin to suck up her expenses. He wasn’t earning any income now that he wasn’t competing and she had no idea what his net worth was. Anyway, even if he had deep pockets, he didn’t owe her a living. She would have to find a way to pay her own way.

  And A.J. was determined not to throw herself on her father’s financial mercy. She wasn’t going to compromise her newfound independence from him simply because of money.

  With a flash of insight, she realized how easy she’d had it while under her father’s wing. Even though she’d never been paid anything for her work at the stables, there had
always been plenty of money. Her father was generous with cash and had covered all her expenses, in school and out. All her clothes, her tack, the horses she rode, the cars she drove, the meals she ate and the vacations she went on…Garrett took care of it all. She had no credit cards in her own name, had never paid a phone bill, couldn’t remember the last time she’d written out a check to some kind of vendor.

  Sure sounded like the life of a princess, she thought, struck by what a bizarre existence she’d had. Between Peter running the business of Sutherland Stables, and her father taking care of her so well, she’d become completely divorced from her own finances. Why hadn’t she noticed before now?

  Because she’d never actually paid for anything until now, A.J. thought, her fingers seeking out the solitaire and rolling it around.

  So how was she going to cover her debt?

  Maybe she could just sell something.

  The trouble was, she didn’t really own anything. Which she guessed made sense considering she’d never really bought anything with her own money. Well, except for wildly unpredictable Thoroughbred stallions with water phobias and the predilection for torturing blacksmiths.

  Why couldn’t she have started out with something a little less ambitious? Like a goldfish?

  She mentally thumbed through the things she used on a daily basis. The convertible was in Sutherland Stables’ name for the write-off; her furniture back home was more the mansion’s than hers; her clothes had been bought on credit that her father covered. Besides, she didn’t imagine there was a huge market for used barn boots.

  What was she going to do?

  Her fingers stilled, the solution painfully clear.

  God, growing up hurts, she thought, dropping her hand to her lap.

  Chester showed up for breakfast the next morning with a saucy grin. Devlin and A.J. were just sitting down when the man walked in.

  “Good mornin’! Good to see ya set m’ place at the table. Didya miss me?”

  “Welcome back,” A.J. said, smiling up at the man.

  “How’re you feeling?” Devlin asked suspiciously.

  “Right as rain. Fit as a fiddle. All the usual.” Chester slid into his chair and picked up his spoon. “I’m ready to get back to work. Couldn’t stand kicking around the house yesterday. Hey, listen. After the trainin’, I was thinkin’ I could retrofit those water pipes that busted. The plumber said he fixed the line but—”

  “You’re doing nothing but the bare minimum today and I’m going to be watching you,” Devlin said. “If you’re not on good behavior, you’re back on the bench.”

  Chester opened his mouth to argue but obviously thought better of it.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “If the two a’ you want to play nursemaid, that’s your business.”

  “Glad you see the light,” Devlin said with a grin.

  Down at the barn, they fell into their regular rhythm of work but it was strained under the surface. A.J. had to perform many of her tasks with one hand, which meant she was slow and dropped things. The worst for her was picking out Sabbath’s hooves. She had to use her arm to do the job, and, by the time she was finished, beads of sweat were dotting her forehead from the pain. She was forced to sit down and recover, cradling her arm in her lap while pretending to make small talk with Chester. After a while, the pain passed but it took longer than the day before.

  Devlin had his own concerns. He was worried Chester would overdo it and unsure how much lifting and pulling was safe for the man to do. The groom behaved himself for the most part, but when he came down from the loft with a heavy load of hay, Devlin had to step in.

  “You sure you should be carrying all that?”

  “Humpin’ bales a’ hay is what they make men for.”

  “It’s what they make wheelbarrows for.”

  “Aww, come on. I’ve been toting this kinda load for years.”

  “And maybe it’s time you eased up.” Before the man could argue, Devlin pointed a finger to the back of the barn. “You know where it is.”

  Moments later, Chester showed up grumbling but pushing the wheelbarrow.

  “Much better.”

  “Hate this thing,” Chester grumbled. “Wheel’s bent cockeyed an’ the barrel’s too shallow.”

  “So buy a new one. You’re going to spend a lot more time using the thing, so you better like it.”

  Chester looked as if he was going to squabble.

  “Tell you what,” A.J. offered. “I’ve got some errands to run today. We’ll hijack the truck and pick up a new one together.”

  “You askin’ me on a date?” Chester asked wolfishly.

  “I suppose I am.”

  “You buyin’ or am I?”

  “If you’re talking about the wheelbarrow, I am,” Devlin interjected.

  “But what about food? If it’s a date, ya need food.”

  “Probably not a lot of that at the local hardware store,” A.J. said with a grin. “Considering your days of eating nails are over with.”

  “Well, I’ll pay for lunch if we go to the Pick a’ the Chicken.”

  “Okay, but you should know, I don’t kiss on the first date.”

  “Neither do I.”

  They all laughed.

  Before heading to the ring, A.J. ducked into the tack room and dug out the pills she’d put in a plastic bag and shoved deep into the pocket of her jeans. She’d taken two as soon as she’d gotten out of bed and she’d intended not to take any more until after the session but she knew she wasn’t going to make it through the workout without more.

  Devlin walked into the room just as she tilted her head back to swallow.

  “Hey, do you want to—?”

  Caught by surprise, she choked and began coughing.

  “Sorry,” she gasped, knocking herself in the chest.

  Devlin gave her a strange look. “You okay there?”

  As soon as she could breathe again, she said, “Fine. I’m fine. You caught me on the thin edge of a sneeze.”

  “Well, if you need mouth-to-mouth, I’m the right man for the job.”

  She went over to him, slipping her arms around his waist. “That so?”

  “You better believe it,” he said before dipping her and catching her lips in a searing kiss.

  “What I was about to say before you turned blue,” he murmured against her lips, “was how’d you like to go on a date tonight?”

  “A date?”

  “Dinner and a movie. Just the two of us. We could eat pizza and nuzzle in the back of a dark theater.” His tongue stroked her bottom lip. “I’ve heard the smell of popcorn is an aphrodisiac. Not that we need the help, of course.”

  “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

  “Good.” He kissed her again and left.

  Alone in the room, A.J.’s shoulders sagged. She hated lying to him. Hated her injury. Prayed that she would heal fast.

  Going to the windows, she saw the ring beyond, its multicolored jumps bright in the sunlight. She reached out a hand, putting the tips of her fingers against the cold, leaded glass that wrinkled the landscape. It was just until the Qualifier, she told herself. Then she would take a break and let the arm rest. Only a matter of weeks.

  The thought didn’t reassure her much. Turning her back to the window, she straightened her shoulders. And prepared to soldier on.

  After the training session, A.J. and Chester piled into the truck and rambled to the outskirts of town. First stop was the hardware store, where they found a shiny red wheelbarrow that fit Chester’s precise specifications. They loaded it into the back, tied it down with some rope and then headed downtown.

  Although hardly a metropolitan standout, the city proper wasn’t without sophistication. There was a small but bustling financial district, two four-star hotels, a convention center and a tidy row of shops on the main street. All along the sidewalks, people were walking with gracious purpose, more friendly than those found in bigger cities but without the meandering gait of folks who live
d in truly small towns.

  Cruising down the street, A.J. pulled into a parking space in front of one of the antique shops. Chester shot her a quizzical look.

  “I know I’m old and priceless but ya don’t have to get rid of me just yet,” he said.

  A.J. smiled stiffly. “I’ll be right out.”

  He watched her go inside with interest. Through the wide windows in the front of the store, he saw a well-dressed man come forward to greet her warmly and then observed the two disappearing into a back room. Sometime later, when they returned to view, A.J. shook hands with the man. It seemed like she was trying to reassure him of something. When she came back out of the store, a slip of paper in her hand, her face was grim.

  “Everythin’ okay?”

  She nodded but as she pulled out of the parking space, she almost sideswiped a car, and they were saved only by the horn of the other driver. As she recovered, Chester noticed her hands were shaking on the steering wheel.

  “Sorry about that,” she murmured, shooting him an apologetic look.

  Concerned, Chester found it difficult to respect her privacy as they pulled up to the local bank.

  “This won’t take a moment,” she told him.

  When she returned, she was tucking something into her back pocket. She didn’t offer explanations and he didn’t ask for any. This time, she was much more cautious as she pulled out into traffic. Silence reigned as they left town, unbroken until she turned into the parking lot of the auction house.

  “We biddin’ on something?” Chester asked.

  A.J. took a deep breath.

  “No, we’re doing a little detective work,” she said, parking the truck.

  “Concernin’ what?”

  “Sabbath’s background.”

  “I don’t know that y’re gonna like his rap sheet.”

  A.J. tried to smile as she opened her door. Chester disembarked with her.

  “You know, I can really see you as the Nancy Drew type,” he said. “Determined, fearless. Only no matching hat an’ handbag kinda thing. Can’t see you botherin’ with all that girlie stuff.”