by Ward, J. R.
This time she was able to offer a better grin as they crossed over the blacktop and headed toward the business office.
Chester kept up the conversation. “I’d even guess you’d be related to that Drew girl, what with the reddish hair an’ all. I could see the two a’ ya huntin’ around scary old houses, findin’ secret passages, diggin’ up things.”
“Actually, the one with the shovel’s my cousin, C.C.”
“Clamdigger?”
“Archaeologist.”
“Same thing.” Chester opened the door for her. “Say, do they give you girls anythin’ more than initials in your family?”
“Actually, she goes by Carter, now. I just keep forgetting that we’ve all grown up.”
As they approached the counter, Margaret Mead, A.J.’s old friend, came out from the back room. As soon as she saw A.J., she broke into a wide smile.
“Ah, now, there’s a sight for sore eyes!” The Irish lilt was a welcoming sound. “And who’d you be bringin’ with you this day?”
A.J. glanced over at Chester, who’d removed his tattered baseball cap and was the color of a beefsteak tomato. She raised her eyebrows, struck by a thought.
“This is a very dear friend, Chester Raymond,” she replied, nudging the man forward. He hung back, barely touching Margaret’s hand as the woman reached over the counter.
“Pleased to meet you,” Margaret said with a twinkle.
Chester mumbled something that could have been “Hello.” Maybe in some foreign language.
“And what brings the two of you here?” the woman asked.
“Do you have any records on that stallion I bought? His name is—”
“I remember the animal,” Margaret said. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up on him?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Ah, I knew you’d have the stuff.” She looked over to Chester. “A right talented lass, she is, don’t you think?”
Chester shuffled his feet but managed a “Yes, ma’am.”
“What kind of information are you lookin’ for?”
“Former owners. I know where he was bred and the last stable he was boarded at but it’s a blank slate between the two.”
“Hmmm. I do believe we sold him a couple of times but I’d have to go through the files. Let me see what I can come up with.”
“I’d appreciate it. I’m at the McCloud Stables. You can find me there.”
“Will do.” Margaret settled her eyes on Chester. “And how do you know such a lovely thing as the Miss Sutherland?”
“I groom over at McCloud’s.”
“He’s one of my coaches,” A.J. corrected.
Chester looked up, surprised. “I suddenly get a promotion?”
“Devlin helps me over the fences,” A.J. said to Margaret. “Chester helps me get over myself. He’s full of wisdom, insight—”
Chester cleared his throat.
A.J. fell silent.
Margaret’s eyes positively sparkled.
The two women looked at each other, a common purpose forged like iron.
“Thanks again, Margaret,” A.J. said.
“I’ll be in touch,” the woman replied.
They both looked at Chester, who appeared to be on the verge of another seizure.
“Ma’am,” he said, nodding to Margaret.
“It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Raymond.”
A.J. turned to go and Chester followed but not before he glanced back one last time at the Irish woman.
Outside, as he and A.J. walked to the truck, he said, “I’m not a used car, you know. Ya don’t have to sell me like I’m some jalopy lookin’ for a garage to park in.”
“Was I doing that? I thought I was just being accurate. You are an incredibly important part—”
“That fine woman in there has no need for a man to be pressed on her.”
“So you noticed.”
“Noticed what?”
“What a nice person she is.”
“’Course I did,” he grumbled. “But she could be married, for all I know.”
His question dangled like a hiker off a cliff, ready for rescue.
“Margaret’s a widow,” A.J. said, tossing down a lifeline. She got in the driver’s side and put the key in the ignition.
“Really,” Chester murmured as he slid into the passenger seat. “I mean, that’s a shame. How long’s it been?”
“A couple of years. And she isn’t seeing anyone now.”
The engine came to life.
“Not that it’s any a’ m’ business,” Chester said firmly.
“Of course not,” A.J. agreed, putting them into reverse.
He shot her a look. “Ya settin’ me up, girl?”
“Now, why would I do something like that? You can clearly take care of yourself.”
“That’s right. I don’t need any help with the ladies.”
She turned the truck around, trying not to smile too much.
“Ya think she liked me?” he asked.
A.J. and Devlin were on their way out to dinner when she took the slip of paper she’d gotten from the bank and handed it to him.
“What’s this?”
“The money I owe you.”
He frowned.
“When I started here,” she said, “you and I agreed I’d pay for training and board. That should cover it. At least according to what we charge at Sutherland’s.”
Without looking at the check, he tried to push it back at her. “I don’t want your money.”
“Devlin, I saw the bills.”
“What bills?”
“The ones upstairs on your desk.”
“So?”
“There’s a couple thousand dollars’ worth of debt up there. You need this money. You’re not competing anymore.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” he said darkly.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So you think I’m going to go broke feeding your stallion?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“In any event, let me put your mind at ease. I may not be in your father’s league but I’m not strapped for cash, either.”
“Devlin—”
“Too bad you didn’t get into my investment files while you were nosing around up there. Then your mind would be at ease.”
“I wasn’t nosing around.”
“So the bills just fell into your hands while you were on the phone.”
“Look, I’m just trying to live up to my obligations.”
“And I’m telling you not to worry about it.”
A.J.’s eyes implored him. “I’ve spent too much time letting other people take care of me. You and I should be partners. Will you let me do this, please?”
She watched him cross his arms over his chest, the check getting buried in the crook of his elbow. While she waited for him to speak, she reached to her throat out of habit but there was nothing to rub between her fingers. She dropped her hand.
Devlin frowned, unsure exactly what was missing in the movement.
Finally, he said, “Is this money yours or your father’s?”
“Mine.”
If it were her father’s, it would have been easy to tear up the check. He had no intention of taking Garrett Sutherland’s cash. Ever. As for it being A.J.’s, he wondered whether it would change things if she knew he had several million dollars in various stocks, bank accounts and real-estate investments. Would she find it easier to let him bear some of the burden for her?
“Devlin, I may have brought this up because I’m worried what the stallion and I are costing you but there’s more to it. It’s about me being independent. For the first time in my life, I want to support myself.” She paused. “I need to be self-sufficient.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I can tell. But you know it’s the right thing for me to do, don’t you?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to think I can’t take care of you.”
He looked down at her for a long time.
“I didn’t know I was such a traditional guy,” he muttered, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Taking care of my woman and all that caveman, chest-thumping stuff.”
“You’re very sweet when you’re being protective and overbearing.”
Reluctantly, he slipped the check into his back pocket.
“Was this our second argument?” he asked as he opened the door for her.
“I think so,” A.J. said, slipping her arm through his. “And I think we did just fine.”
“Does this mean we get to make up later?”
“You better believe it.”
They were getting into the truck when she said, “By the way, I’ve asked Margaret Mead to look into Sabbath’s records. She might be calling for me sometime in the next few days.”
“You get anywhere with his last owner?”
A.J. shook her head. “Came up empty on his first one, too.”
Devlin drove them to the next town over and they ate at a restaurant that was known for its lasagna. After her failed attempt at cooking, A.J. seized the opportunity to pick up tips from the pros. The waiter humored her through her interrogation and eventually the chef himself came over to their table. She took notes on cocktail napkins and whenever she looked up at Devlin he was watching her with eyes full of amusement and warmth.
The movie they saw had more special effects than story line but it didn’t matter. As they pulled up in front of the barn again, they both agreed the evening had been perfect. After checking on Sabbath, they went to the farmhouse, hung up their jackets and headed upstairs, one after the other. Together, they took their clothes off, mingling their laundry in the hamper, and brushed their teeth, side by side. When they were lying together in bed, A.J. closed her eyes, feeling a profound peace.
Devlin, on the other hand, was wide-awake and staring at the ceiling. Before pitching his khakis in with the rest of the dirty clothes, he’d cleaned out the pockets and found the check. He’d been surprised at how large an amount she’d written it for.
What did he expect, he mused. She probably had a trust fund that made Fort Knox look like a piggy bank.
The next morning, though, something was still nagging at him. When Chester and he had a moment alone, he asked the man, “Where did you two go yesterday?”
“The hardware store, an antiques dealer an’ the auction house.”
“Antiques dealer?”
“Yup. An’ the bank.”
“Which one?”
“National Savings an’ Trust.”
“No, which dealer?”
Chester thought for a moment. “The real fancy one on State Street. Got all kinds of silver an’ jewelry in the front window. Looks like you’d have to pass a credit check just to get through the door. Needless to say, I stayed in the truck.”
Devlin frowned.
“What’s the problem, boy? You look like you got a beehive between the ears.”
“It’s nothing. Forget I asked.”
14
A WEEK later, Devlin was calling out commands as A.J. and Sabbath warmed up. Watching from the rail, Chester was impressed.
From train wreck to poetry in motion, he thought. ’Course, ya coulda raised a barn with bare hands for all the work it took.
Moving lithely, the pair was working as one as they went from a bouncing trot into a loping canter. Even to Chester’s expert eye, he couldn’t tell when A.J. was giving direction to the stallion. It was like they were communicating telepathically, and when they started jumping, he was awestruck. All pounding hooves and leaping arches, they charged through the course, making quick work of the mammoth fences. And they did it with an elegant confidence, as if it was no more than a whim.
A new champion’s just entered the sport, Chester thought, and everybody’s gonna know it at the Qualifier.
In the center of the ring, Devlin was thinking the same thing. When they came jogging into the center, he started clapping.
“Congratulations. That was great.”
But A.J. barely responded. Her features were tight, her cheeks pale, and he saw that her hands shook as they held the reins. She was in the same state after every session and he couldn’t understand it. When prompted, her response was always, “I’m fine. It’s just stress. It takes a lot of concentration to keep Sabbath in line.” Always a plausible denial. Except he wasn’t buying it anymore.
“Chester,” he called out. “Walk out the beast, would you?”
A.J. looked at him in surprise.
“You and I need to talk,” he told her.
“About what?”
“Why you look like you’re going to fall out of the saddle.”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Bullshit. You look like hell.”
“Just an off day.”
“It’s like this every time we finish up in the ring.”
“It’s hard work.”
“Not that hard.”
She frowned at him, the pain in her arm and his insight making her defensive. Her voice grew sharp.
“I appreciate the concern but I feel fine. And I don’t need help cooling down my horse.” She called out to Chester, who was coming across the dirt, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of him.”
As the groom shrugged and turned around, Devlin shot her a dark look. “Suit yourself but I’ll see you back at the house. This conversation isn’t over.”
A.J. watched him stalk out of the ring and groaned. The last thing she needed was an in-depth discussion about her stamina. As the stallion fell into a walk at the rail, she let down some of her guard, wincing as she settled her arm across her lap. The pain hadn’t gotten any better and she wasn’t surprised Devlin had noticed her fatigue. Being in constant agony was exhausting.
And the excuses were getting harder to tell every time.
When she finally dismounted, she found herself swallowing another pair of Motrin before she could lead the stallion back to the barn. Feeling wretched, she was closing the ring’s gate and girding herself for the rigors of grooming, when an unfamiliar car came up the drive. Margaret Mead disembarked from the compact, waved to A.J. and smiled when she saw Chester hovering in the background.
Walking over with the stallion, A.J. did her best to cheerfully greet their visitor while waiting desperately for the painkillers to kick in.
“Good mornin’,” Margaret said.
“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” A.J. replied, glancing back at Chester, who was standing just inside the stable door. “But I’m glad you did.”
The two women shared a meaningful look.
“Why don’t you come inside and get out of the wind,” A.J. said in a voice loud enough to be overheard. She was hoping to give Chester a moment to collect himself.
In the shadows, the man took advantage of it. He tore off his baseball cap and smoothed down the thin hair on his head. As Margaret approached, he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a nervous metronome.
“Did you find out anything?” A.J. asked as they halted the stallion at the crossties. He craned his head forward, snuffling over Margaret.
“Aye, I did,” the woman said, eyes growing sad as she stroked his muzzle.
A.J. felt her insides grow cold.
“Seems to be he was sold as a yearling to a stable not known for the humane treatment of its horses. I can’t say I could tell you exactly what happened to him there but, if what I know about the place is true, it’s likely he had some very tough times.”
“Oh, no…”
“The stables were closed down by the state two years ago. We’ve sold a lot of horses that had been trained there over the years and they’ve all had behavioral problems of one sort or another. After some kind treatment, most of them come round, though they’re never completely the
same again. The abuse stays with them.”
“And no wonder,” A.J. said, putting a hand on the stallion’s neck. He turned his head to her, giving her an affectionate nudge.
It all made such awful sense. The way he got so aggressive with handlers and in the show ring, his finicky behavior about his feet that became violent if he was pressed, his suspicion of people he didn’t know. His fear of water. She’d heard of horses who were treated badly, knew some stories of abuse, but usually owners and stables took good care of their stock, if for no other reason than the vast sums of money that got pumped into show horses. Unfortunately, there were tragic exceptions.
“I think I remember hearin’ about that place,” Chester spoke up. “The guy who ran it was a real sick bast—er, man. He used to have his grooms turn hoses on the horses. Said it was a way of exhaustin’ the animals out a’ misbehavin’. If the grooms didn’t do it, they’d get fired. An’ that was early on. By the time they got closed down, the man’d gone mad. Starvin’ an’ floggin’ the stock. It was a mess.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have better news,” Margaret said.
“Me, too,” A.J. said sadly.
It was incomprehensible to her how anyone could hurt something as magnificent as the stallion who was nibbling at the edge of her jacket collar. His breath was warm on her face and his butter-soft muzzle was ever so gently brushing up against her neck. Her heart bled for the cruelty he’d suffered and for the other animals that had been brutalized. The fact the stable had been closed down would never make up for what had happened to any of them.
“Ah, lass,” Margaret said, slipping an arm around A.J.’s shoulders. “Your heart’s in the right place. This stallion was lucky to find you and you him. It’s a fine pairin’.”
Chester nodded. “Very fine.”
“I need to go talk to Devlin,” A.J. said. “Will you excuse me?”
Margaret smiled. “Of course.”
“I’ll groom him real good,” Chester said before the question was posed. “Go on, now.”
Margaret and Chester watched the young woman leave.
“That’s a fine girl,” Margaret said.
